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For Young Folks 




Part I., November, 1S85, to April, 1SS6. 



Copyright, 1SS6, by The Century Co. 

The Dk Yinne Press. 

Library, Univ. «f 




Six Months — November, 1885, to April, 1886. 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 

in 2012 with funding from 

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 



Adventure of a Mouse, The. (Illustrated by H. Pyle and A. Brennan). . .Howard Pyle 147 

"A Gay Little Fellow." Jingle. (Illustrated and engrossed by G. R. Halm) E. E. Sterns 470 

All Aboard for To-morrow Morning ! Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes 476 

Among the Law-makers. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) Edmund Alton : . . 53 

141, 219, 292, 3S6 

April Day, An. Poem Sara M. Chaifield 407 

Architect, An. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) George J. Manson 212 

Around the Bay of Naples. (Illustrated) Frank K. Stockton 263 

Art and Artists, Stories of. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement 323 

Badminton Charles Ledyard Norton 290 

Ballad of Johnny Picklefritz, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Q. II'. 419 

Barty's Turkey. (Illustrated by Albert E. Sterner) Sophie Swell 12 

Benevolent Boy ! Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) 4. R. Wells. 124 

Ben's Sister. (Illustrated by G. F. Barnes) Maria L. Pool 464 

Big Hans and Little Hans. (Illustrated by W. A. Rogers) H. H. Boyesen 201 

" Black Stones a-Blazing." Jingle. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) E. E. Sterns 299 

Bold Highwayman, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by A. Dunham Wheeler) . .M. G. Vati Rensselaer 2S2 

Bright Idea, A. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch ) Malcolm Douglas 29 

Brownies and the Bicycles, The. (Illustrated by the Author) ..Palmer Cox 69 

Brownies' Circus, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author J Paltner Cox 3S9 

Brownies Tobogganing, The. Verses. (Illustrated by the Author) .Palmer Cox 227 

Candy Country, The. (Illustrated by E. W. Kemble) Louisa M. Alcott. . . . . 16 

Captain Bright Eyes and Lady Quick Ear H. H. (Helen Jackson) 1S2 

Casperl. (Illustrated by Leon Moran and Oliver Herford) H. C. Bunner 403 

Catching a Wild Cat. (Illustrated by the Author) William Cary 30S 

Chinese Game-song, A. (Illustrated by Henry Sandham) Ella Sterling Cummins. 180 

Chopin Agatha Tunis 143 

Christmas Before Last. (Illustrated by E. B. Bensell) Frank R. Stockton 124 

Christmas Every Day. (Illustrated by a little girl) W. D. Howells 163 

Christmas Gifts, Home-made. (Illustrated by the Author) Ella S. Welch .61 

Christmas Number, The. Picture, drawn by Mary Hallock Foote 123 

CHRISTMAS Stars. (Illustrated by Carl Marr) 4. Temple Bellew 210 

Considerate Crocodile, The. Jingle. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) 4. R. Wells. 134 

Conversation at the Zoo, A. Picture, drawn by J. C. Beard 303 

Dicky Dot and Dotty Dick. Play : E. S. Brooks 2S5 

Difficult Problem, A. Picture, drawn by O. Herford 160 

Dog Stories, St. Nicholas. (Illustrated) 35S 

Electrical Engineer, An. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) George J. Manson 300 

Enough for Two. Picture, drawn by J. C. Beard 96 

.- Ephesus, Two Middies at. (Illustrated by W. H. Overend and E. I. ) JT rr ,,, , 

"> ■ \ H. H. C lark 54 

Meeker) ^ 

"f Errand, An. Verses Sydney Dayre . . .346 

^ Explanation, An. Poem Samuel W. Duffield 331 

Father Hubbard. Picture, drawn by D. C. Peters . . 272 



Fire ! Fire ! Poem Esther B. Tiffany 60 

Firm of Big Brain - , Little Brain & Co., The. (Illustrated by the Author). Frank Bellew. 304 

Fish-spearing Through the Ice. (Illustrated by H. I. Keller) J. O. Roorback 247 

Five Little Boys. Jingle E. V. S. 149 

Florence and Venice, In. (Illustrated) Frank R. Stockton 349 

Florentine Babies, Some Famous. (Illustrated by J. R. Pennell) Elizabeth Robins Pennell . . 243 

French Painters. (Illustrated) Clara Erskine Clement- . . . 323 

From Bach to Wagner Agatha Tunis. 

Schumann 28 

Chopin 143 

Wagner. ( Illustrated) 189 

Garden of Girls, A. 

Uncle and Aunt. (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis Shepherd) Susan Coolidge 30 

GEORGE WASHINGTON. (Illustrated by Henry Sandham, W. H. Drake, { Horace E. Scudder 192 

H. A. Ogden, and others) > 274, 366, 435 

Giant Turtles. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard) Charles Frederick Holder .... 24 

Girl who Lost her Pocket, The. (Illustrated by A. E. Sterner) Sophie Swett 257 

Going ! Going ! Gone ! (Illustrated) H. H. (Helen Jackson) . . . 272 

Grandfather's Valentine. Poem Elizabeth Cumings 246 

Great Improvement, A. Verses Sydney Hayre 303 

Great Rome Again. (Illustrated by Joseph R. Pennell) Frank R. Stockton 38 

Great Snowball Fight, The. (Illustrated by George Inness, Jr.) Cliarles Barnard 342 

Halloween. Picture, drawn by Albert E. Sterner 8 

Heads we Win, — Tails you Lose. Picture, drawn by Culmer Barnes So 

Historic Girls : Woo of Hwang-ho. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) E. S. Brooks 420 

Holiday Party - , Our C. E. C. 13S 

Home-made Christmas Gifts. (Illustrated by the Author) Ella S. Welch 61 

How Fishes Climb Hill. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) Cliarles Frederick Holder. . . 104 

Icicle, The. Verses. (Illustrated by W. H. Goater) Rev. C. T. Wkittemore . . . . 446 

Imprisoned Whale, An. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) Edmund Collins 417 

Jingles 47. I2 4> '34. H9> 215, 282, 299, 310 

" Keep OFF THE Grass." Picture, drawn by Irene F. Jerome 140 

King of the Frozen North, The. (Illustrated) John R. Coryell 201 

Little Christmas-tree, The. Poem Susan Coolidge 81 

" Little Dick Silverback." Jingle. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) . .E. E. Sterns 215 

Little Lord Fauntleroy. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Frances Hodgson Burnett 3 

82, 16S, 252, 332, 408 

Magic Clocks, The. (Illustrated by Albert E. Sterner) H. H. (Helen Jackson) . 8, 92 

Minute Sketches. Pictures, drawn by Alfred Brennan 3S8 

Moon and its " Shine," The. Verses Bessie Chandler 15 

Morning at Rugby During Vacation-time, A. (Illustrated by Joseph \ 

, Edwin D. Ulead 11; 

R. Pennell) ^ ' 

Mrs. Kriss Kringle. Poem Edith M. Thomas 13S 

Mountain-top and How We Get There, A. (Illustrated by Jas. Monks ji r , „ _. ,. 

' ^ J J \ Frank R. Stockton 426 

and E. J. Meeker) ^ 4 

My Echo. Poem. (Illustrated and engrossed by Albert E. Sterner) Edgar Fawcelt 10S 

My Grandmother's Grandmother's Christmas Candle. (Illustrated \ 

v n ta 1.- t> i.N C Hczekiah Butte>- forth ... 174 

by G. De P . Brush) ) '* 

" My Pretty Glass Tower." Jingle. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) E. E. Sterns 299 

Naples, Around the Bay of. (Illustrated) Fiank R. Stockton 263 

New Bits of Talk for Young Folk H. H. (Helen Jackson.) 

The Magic Clocks. (Illustrated by Albert E. Sterner) 8, 92 

Captain Bright Eyes and Lady Quick Ear . 182 

Going ! Going ! Gone ! 272 

Tit for Tat 341 

" Wait ! " A New Time-table for Boys and Girls 447 

New Hat and Muff, The. Verses. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills) Elizabeth L. Gould 374 



New Moon, The. Verses. (Illustrated by Laura C. Hills_) C. Lloyd 407 

Nick Woolson's Ride. (Illustrated by G. F. Barnes) Rose HawtJwrne Lathrop ... 1S4 

Not Handsome, Perhaps, but Very Stylish. Picture, drawn by F. Bellew, Jr 365 

Nothing on the Breakfast Table. (Illustrated by Sol Eytinge) Margaret Eytinge 2S2 

November Evening, A. Poem. (Illustrated by the frontispiece) Celia Thaxter 7 

One Little Rhyme in a World of Rhyme. Poem Ernest Whitney 123 

Our Holiday Party C. E. C 138 

Our Joe. (Illustrated by C. H. Stephens) L. II. Stephens 47 

Pane-pictures. Poem 4. C. 358 

Personally Conducted. (Illustrated by J. R. Pennell and others) Frank R. Stockton. 

Great Rome Again 38 

Around the Bay of Naples 263 

In Florence and Venice 349 

A Mountain-top and How We Get There 426 

Pet Cat of an Electric Light Company, The. Picture, drawn by L. Hopkins 302 

Pictures 8, 37, 75, 80, 96, 107, 123, 140, 160, 235, 272, 291, 302, 303, 365, 3S8, 395, 434, 476 

Playing School. Picture, drawn by E. W. McDowell • 37 

Pudding Cometh, The. Picture, drawn by Albert E. Sterner 160 

Putting This and That Together George Klingle 121 

Quaker Esther's Ride. (Illustrated by Henry Sandham) E. Vinton Blake 380 

Rainy Day, A. Verses Sydney Dayre 420 

Rajah's Paper-cutter, The. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) John R. Coryell 136 

Ready for Business; or, Choosing an Occupation. (Illustrated by ) ^ T ,, 

v 3 > George J. iManson. 
W. H. Drake) ) 

An Architect 212 

An Electrical Engineer 300 

Real King, The. (Illustrated) John R. Coryell 2S8 

Right Royal Christmas Unto You, A. Picture, drawn by D. Clinton Peters 107 

Rigi, The. (A Mountain-top and How We Get There) Frank R. Stockton 426 

" Ring the Bell and Blow the Horn." Jingle. (Illustrated by G. R. Halm) E.E. Sterns 215 

Romance, A. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Malcolm Douglas 135 

Rugby, A Morning at. (Illustrated by Joseph R. Pennell) Edwin ■ D. Mead 117 

Rugby, School-Life at. (Illustrated by Joseph R. Pennell) Elizabeth Robins Pennell. ... no 

Santa Claus on a Lark. (Illustrated by Sol Eytinge) Washington Gladden 96 

Santa Claus on Snow Shoes. (Illustrated by D. Clinton Peters). . . .... Sophie May 20S 

Savage and Cowardly. (Illustrated) John R. Coryell 346 

School-life at Rugby. (Illustrated by Joseph R. Pennell) Elizabeth Robins Pennell .. . no 

Schumann Agatha Tunis 28 

Secret of It, The. Poem Susan Coolidge 1 79 

Shakspere's School, A Visit to. (Illustrated by C. H. Stephens) Rez: Albert Danker 46S 

Shoe or Stocking? Poem Edith M. Thomas 192 

Simple Simon. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) 307 

Sir Rojer De Romily Rose. Jingle. (Illustrated by Oliver Herford) 47 

Sixteen and Six. Verses. (Illustrated and engrossed by Albert E. Sterner) 145 

Sky-SAILING. Poem John Vance Cheney 122 

Slight Misunderstanding, A. Verses Bessie Chandler 309 

Smallest Dog in the World, The. (Illustrated by J. M. Nugent) C. J. Russell 146 

Snow-storm, The. Poem Grace Denio Litchfield 92 

Some Famous Florentine Babies. (Illustrated by J. R. Pennell) Elizabeth Robins Pennell . . 243 

Sophie Connor and the Vacation-school. (Illustrated by H. Sandham). . Charles Barnard 454 

St. Nicholas Dog Stories. (Illustrated)' 35S 

Stories of Art and Artists : French Painters. (Illustrated^ Clara Erskine Clement 323 

Stranger Cat, The. Verses. (Illustrated by W. H. Drake) jV. P. Babcock 172 

Taking Baby's Picture. Verses. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) A. W. N. 348 

Thanksgiving Ghost, A. Picture, drawn by O. Herford So 

"Three Little Maids from School are We." Picture, drawn by Laura \ 

C. Hills \ 434 



Through the Register. (Illustrated by O. Herford) 148 

Tit for Tat H. H. (Helm Jackson) 341 

To A Squirrel. Poem Henry S. Cornwall 52 

Totty's Banjo. Picture, drawn by Isabel McDougal 291 

Turtles, Giant. (Illustrated by J. C. Beard) '. Charles Frederick Holder 24 

Two Middies at Ephesus. (Illustrated by W. H. Overend and E. J. Meeker).//. //. Clark 54 

Uncle and Aunt. (Illustrated by Jessie Curtis Shepherd) Susan Coolidge 30 

Vacation-schools in Boston. (Illustrated by H. Sandham) Edward Everett Hale 448 

Valentine, Grandfather's. Poem Elizabeth Comings 246 

Valentines. Verses. (Illustrated by W. II. Drake) W. IV. E 284 

Visit to Shakspere's School, A. (Illustrated by C. H. Stephens) Rev. Albert Danker 46S 

Voices of Prophecy. Poem. (Illustrated) Dora Read Goodale 251 

VOYAGE, A. Poem Harlan H. Ballard 434 

Wagner. (Illustrated) Agatlia Tunis 1S9 

" Wait ! " A New Time-table for Boys and Girls H. H. (Helen Jackson) 447 

Who'llBuy? Poem Dora Read Goodale 23 

Wonders of the Alphabet. (Illustrated) Henry Eckford 375, 460 

Wood-notes from a Cage. Poem Helen Gray Cone 36 

Woo of Hwang-ho. (Illustrated by A. Brennan) E. S. Brooks 421 

For Very Little Folk. (Illustrated) 

Mother Goose Rhymes 152 

Why Coralie was 111 Laura E. Richards . . 230 

Five Jolly Rogues E. E. Sterns 310 

The Hearty Hen A. R. Wells 311 

A Grandmother who can Draw 471 


Dicky Dot and Dotty Dick E. S. Brooks 2S5 

Jack-in-the-Pulpit. ( Illustrated) 

Introduction — Moon-rainbows — Chestnuts without Burrs (illustrated) — A Vegetable Needle and Thread (illus- 
trated), 72; Introduction — Steep Pastures — Look it up — Silver Thimbles — A Living Barometer (illustrated), 
150; Introduction — Life in a Snow-flake — A Deer as a Watch-dog; Baked Matches; and other Queer Things — 
The Carjole — An African New- Year's Card (illustrated), 232; Introduction — Hardly a Square Meal — Living 
Barometers Again — A Case of Real Distress — A Bottled Fish — A Horrified Little School-ma'am —Waiting 
to be Named (illustrated), 312 ; Introduction — Dandelions that Made a Mistake — Still Another Weather- 
prophet — " Beautiful Snow " — About some Colors — The Ink-plant — How Turtles Wink — The Candle-fish 
(illustrated), 392; Introduction — Cunning Bushmen — Economical Poisoning — Some Interesting Little 
Seals — Robin's Umbrella (illustrated) — Verdict : Not Guilty, 472. 

The Agassiz Association. (Illustrated) 76, 156, 237, 317, 396, 477 

The Letter-box. (Illustrated) 74, 154, 234, 315, 394, 474 

The Riddle-box. (Illustrated) 78, 158, 239, 319, 399, 479 

Editorial Notes 74, 154, 234, 314, 394, 474 


"A November Evening " by Mary Hallock Foote, facing Title-page of Volume — " Portrait of a Little Girl," 
after a painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds, facing page 81 — "The Burgomaster's Daughter," from a painting 
by Joseph Lauber, facing page 163 — "The Sisters," by Mary Hallock Foote, facing page 243 — " Madar 
Le Brun's Portrait of Herself, facing page 323 — " ' I am sure you are a Prince,' said the Princess," by I 
Moran, facing page 403. 





Vol. XIII. 

NOVEMBER, 1885. 

No. 1. 

[Copyright, 1SS5, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

Chapter I. 

CEDRIC himself knew nothing whatever about 
it. It had never been even mentioned to him. 
He knew that his papa had been an Englishman, 
because his mamma had told him so ; but then his 
papa had died when he was so little a boy that 
he could not remember very much about him, 
except that he was big, and had blue eyes and a 
long mustache, and that it was a splendid thing 
to be carried around the room on his shoulder. 
Since his papa's death, Cedric had found out that 
it was best not to talk to his mamma about him. 
When his father was ill, Cedric had been sent away, 
and when he had returned, everything was over; 
and his mother, who had been very ill, too, was 
only just beginning to sit in her chair by the win- 
dow. She was pale and thin, and all the dimples 
had gone from her pretty face, and her eyes looked 
large and mournful, and she was dressed in black. 

" Dearest," said Cedric (his papa had called 
her that always, and so the little boy had learned 
to say it), — "dearest, is my papa better?" 

He felt her arms tremble, and so he turned his 
curly head and looked in her face. There was 
something in it that made him feel that he was 
going to cry. 

" Dearest," he said ; " is he well?" 

Then suddenly his loving little heart told him that 
he 'd better put both his arms around her neck and 
kiss her again and again, and keep his soft cheek 
close to hers ; and he did so, and she laid her face 

on his shoulder and cried bitterly, holding him as 
if she could never let him go again. 

"Yes, he is well," she sobbed; "he is quite, 
quite well, but we — we have no one left but each 
other. No one at all." 

Then, little as he was, he understood that his 
big, handsome young papa would not come back 
any more ; that he was dead, as he had heard of 
other people being, although he could not compre- 
hend exactly what strange thing had brought all 
this sadness about. It was because his mamma 
always cried when he spoke of his papa that he 
secretly made up his mind it was better not to 
speak of him very often to her, and he found out, 
too, that it was better not to let her sit still and look 
into the fire or out of the window without moving 
or talking. He and his mamma knew very few 
people, and lived what might have been thought 
very lonely lives, although Cedric did not know it 
was lonely until he grew older and heard why it 
was they had no visitors. Then he was told that 
his mamma was an orphan, and quite alone in 
the world when his papa had married her. She 
was very pretty, and had been living as com- 
panion to a rich old lady who was not kind to her, 
and one day Captain Cedric Errol, who was call- 
ing at the house, saw her run up the stairs with 
tears on her eyelashes : and she looked so sweet 
and innocent and sorrowful that the Captain could 
not forget her. And after many strange things 
had happened, they knew each other well and 
loved each other dearlv, and were married, al- 



though their marriage brought them the ill-will of 
several persons. The one who was most angry of 
all, however, was the Captain's father, who lived in 
England, and was a very rich and important old 
nobleman, with a very bad temper and a very 
violent dislike to America and Americans. He 
had two sons older than Captain Cedric ; and it 
was the law that the elder of these sons should 
inherit the family title and estates, which were 
very rich and splendid ; if the eldest son died the 
next one would be heir ; so though he was a mem- 
ber of such a great family, there was little chance 
that Captain Cedric would be very rich himself. 

But it so happened that Nature had given to 
the younger son gifts which she had not bestowed 
upon his elder brothers. He had a beautiful 
face and a fine, strong, graceful figure ; he had 
a bright smile and a sweet, gay voice ; he was 
brave and generous, and had the kindest heart 
in the world, and seemed to have the power to 
make every one love him. And it was not so 
with his elder brothers ; neither of them was 
handsome, or very kind, or clever. When they 
were boys at Eton, they were not popular ; when 
they were at college, they cared nothing for 
study, and wasted both time and money, and 
made few real friends. The old Earl, their father, 
was constantly disappointed and humiliated by 
them ; his heir was no honor to his noble name, 
and did not promise to end in being anything but 
a selfish, wasteful, insignificant man, with no 
manly or noble qualities. It was very bitter, the 
old Earl thought, that the son who was only third, 
and would have only a very small fortune, should 
be the one who had all the gifts, and all the 
charms, and all the strength and beauty. Some- 
times he almost hated the handsome young man 
because he seemed to have the good things which 
should have gone with the stately title and the 
magnificent estates ; and yet, in the depths of his 
proud, stubborn old heart, he could not help car- 
ing very much for his youngest son. It was in one 
of his fits of petulance that he sent him off to 
travel in America; he thought he would send 
him away for a while, so that he should not be 
made angry by constantly contrasting him with 
his brothers, who were at that time giving him a 
great deal of trouble by their wild ways. 

But after about six months, he began to feel 
lonely, and longed in secret to see his son again, so 
he wrote to Captain Cedric and ordered him home. 
The letter he wrote crossed on its way a letter the 
Captain had just written to his father, telling of his 
love for the pretty American girl, and of his intended 
marriage ; and when the Earl received that letter, 
he was furiously angry. Bad as his temper was, he 
had never given way to it in his life as he gave way 

to it when he read the Captain's letter. His valet, 
who was in the room when it came, thought 
his lordship would have a fit of apoplexy, he was 
so wild with anger. For an hour he raged like a 
tiger, and then he sat down and wrote to his son, 
and ordered him never to come near his old home, 
nor to write to his father or brothers again. He 
told him he might live as he pleased, and die 
where he pleased, that he should be cut off from 
his family forever, and that he need never expect 
help from his father as long as he lived. 

The Captain was very sad when he read the 
letter; he was very fond of England, and he 
dearly loved the beautiful home where he had 
been born ; he had even loved his ill-tempered 
old father, and had sympathized with him in his 
disappointments ; but he knew he need expect no 
kindness from him in the future. At first he scarcely 
knew what to do; he had not been brought up to 
work, and had no business experience, but he had 
courage and plenty of determination. So he sold 
his commission in the English army, and after 
some trouble found a situation in New York, and 
married. The change from his old life in Eng- 
land was very great, but he was young and happy 
and he hoped that hard work would do great 
things for him in the future. He had a small 
house on a quiet street, and his little boy was 
born there, and everything was so gay and cheer- 
fid, in a simple way, that he was never sorry for a 
moment that he had married the rich old lady's 
pretty companion just because she was so sweet 
and he loved her and she loved him. She was 
very sweet, indeed, and her little boy was like 
both her and his father. Though he was born in 
so quiet and cheap a little home, it seemed as if 
there never had been a more fortunate baby. In 
the first place, he was always well, and so he never 
gave any one trouble ; in the second place, he had 
so sweet a temper and ways so charming that he 
was a pleasure to every one ; and in the third place, 
he was so beautiful to look at that he was quite a 
picture. Instead of being a bald-headed baby, 
he started in life with a quantity of soft, fine, 
gold-colored hair, which curled up at the ends, 
and went into loose rings by the time he was six 
months old ; he had big brown eyes and long 
eye-lashes and a darling little face ; he had so 
strong a back and splendid sturdy legs, that at 
nine months he learned suddenly to walk ; his man- 
ners were so good, for a baby, that it was delight- 
ful to make his acquaintance. He seemed to feel 
that every one was his friend, and when any one 
spoke to him, when he was in his carriage in the 
street, he would give the stranger one sweet, 
serious look with the brown eyes, and then follow 
it with a lovely, friendly smile ; and the consequence 


was, that there was not a person in the neighbor- 
hood of the quiet street where he lived, — even to 
the groceryman at the corner, who was consid- 
ered the crassest creature alive, — who was not 
pleased to see him, and speak to him. And every 
month of his life he grew handsomer and more 

When he was old enough to walk out with his 
nurse, dragging a small wagon and wearing a short 
white kilt skirt, and a big white hat set back on his 
curly yellow hair, he was so handsome and strong 
and rosy that he attracted every one's attention, 
and his nurse would come home and tell his 
mamma stories of the ladies who had stopped 
their carriages to look at and speak to him, and of 
how pleased they were when he talked to them in 
his cheerful little way, as if he had known them 
always. His greatest charm was this cheerful, 
fearless, quaint little way of making friends with 
people. I think it arose from his having a very 
confiding nature, and a kind little heart that 
sympathized with every one, and wished to make 
every one as comfortable as he liked to be him- 
self. It made him very quick to understand the 
feelings of those about him. Perhaps this had 
grown on him, too, because he had lived so much 
with his father and mother, who were always 
loving and considerate and tender and well- 
bred. He had never heard an unkind or uncourt- 
eous word spoken at home ; he had always been 
loved and caressed and treated tenderly, and so 
his childish soul was full of kindness and innocent 
warm feeling. He had always heard his mamma 
called by pretty, loving names, and so he used 
them himself when he spoke to her ; he had always 
seen that his papa watched over her and took great 
care of her, and so he learned, too, to be careful 
of her. 

So when he knew his papa would come back 
no more and saw how very sad his mamma was, 
there gradually came into his kind little heart 
the thought that he must do what he could to 
make her happy. He was not much more than a 
baby, but that thought was in his mind whenever 
he climbed upon her knee and kissed her, and 
put his curly head on her neck, and when he 
brought his toys and picture-books to show her, 
and when he curled up quietly by her side as 
she used to lie on the sofa. He was not old 
enough to know of anything else to do, so' he did 
what he could, and was more of a comfort to her 
than he could have understood. 

" Oh, Mary ! " he heard her say once to her old 
servant ; " I am sure he is trying to help me in 
his innocent way — I know he is. He looks at me 
sometimes with a loving, wondering little look, 
as if he were sorry for me, and then he will come 

and pet me or show me something. He is such 
a little man, I really think he knows." 

As he grew older, he had a great many quaint 
little ways which amused and interested people 
greatly. He was so much of a companion for his 
mother that she scarcely cared for any other. 
They used to walk together and talk together and 
play together. When he was quite a little fellow, 
he learned to read ; and after that, he used to lie on 
the hearth-rug, in the evening, and read aloud — 
sometimes stories, and sometimes big books such 
as older people read, and sometimes even the 
newspaper ; and often at such times Mary, in the 
kitchen, would hear Mrs. Errol laughing with 
delight at the quaint things he said. 

' : And, indade," said Mary to the groceryman, 
"nobody cud help laughin' at the quare little 
ways of him — and his ould-fashioned sayin's ! 
Did n't he come into my kitchen the noight the 
new prisident was nominated and shtand afore the 
fire, lookin' loike a pictur', wid his hands in his 
shmall pockets, an' his innocent bit of a face as 
sayrious as a jedge ? An' sez he to me : ' Mary,' 
sez he. ' I 'm very much int'rusted in the 'lection,' 
sez he. ' I 'm a 'publican, an' so is Dearest. 
Are you a 'publican, Mary ? ' ' Sorra a bit,' sez I ; 
' I 'm the bist o' dimmycrats ! ' An' he looks up 
at me wid a look that ud go to yer heart, and sez 
he : ' Mary,' sez he, ' the country will go to ruin.' 
An' nivveraday since thin has he let go by widout 
argyin' wid me to change me polytics." 

Mary was very fond of him, and very proud of 
him, too. She had been with his mother ever 
since he was born ; and, after his father's death, 
had been cook and housemaid and nurse and every- 
thing else. She was proud of his graceful, strong 
little body and his pretty manners, and especially 
proud of the bright curly hair which waved over 
his forehead and fell in charming love-locks on his 
shoulders. She was willing to work early and late 
to help his mamma make his small suits and keep 
them in order. 

" 'Ristycratic, is it ? " she would say. " Faith, 
an' I 'd loike to see the choild on Fifth Avey-nooas 
looks loike him an' shteps out as handsome as him- 
self. An' ivvery man, woman, and choild lookin' 
afther him in his bit of a black velvet skirt made 
out of the misthress's ould gownd : an' his little 
head up an' his curly hair flyin' an' shinin'. It 's 
loike a young lord he looks." 

Cedric did not know that he looked like a young 
lord ; he did not know what a lord was. His 
greatest friend was the groceryman at the corner 
— the cross groceryman, who was never cross to 
him. His name was Mr. Hobbs, and Cedric ad- 
mired and respected him very much. He thought 
him a very rich and powerful person, he had so 



many things in his store — prunes and figs and 
oranges and biscuits, — and he had ahorse and 
wagon. Cedric was fond of the milkman and the 
baker and the apple-woman, but he liked Mr. 
Hobbsbest of all, and wason terms of such intimacy 
with him that he went to see him every day, and 
often sat with him quite a long time, discussing 
the topics of the hour. It was quite surprising 
how many things they found to talk about — the 
Fourth of July, for instance. When they began 
to talk about the Fourth of July there really seemed 
no end to it. Mr. Hobbs had a very bad opinion 
of " the British," and he told the whole story of the 
Revolution, relating very wonderful and patri- 
otic stories about the villainy of the enemy and the 
bravery of the Revolutionary heroes, and he even 
generously repeated part of the Declaration of In- 
dependence. Cedric was 
so excited that his eyes 
shone and his checks were 
red and his curls were 
all rubbed and tumbled 
into a yellow mop. He 
could hardly wait to eat 
his dinner after he went 
home, he was so anxious 
to tell his mamma. It 
was, perhaps, Mr. Hobbs 
who gave him his first 
interest in politics. Mr. 
Hobbs was fond of read- 
ing the newspapers, and 
so Cedric heard a great 
deal about what was go- 
ing on in Washington ; 
and Mr. Hobbs would 
tell him whether the 
President was doing his 
duty or not. And once, 
when there was an elec- 
tion, he found it all quite 
grand, and probably but 
for Mr. Hobbs and Ced- 
ric the country might 
have been wrecked. Mr. 

Hobbs took him to see a great torchlight proces- 
sion, and many of the men who carried torches 
remembered afterward a stout man who stood near 
a lamp-post and held on his shoulder a handsome 
little shouting boy, who waved his cap in the air. 
It was not long after this election, when Cedric 
was between seven and eight years old, that the 
very strange thing happened which made so won- 
derful a change in his life. It was quite curious, 
too, that the day it happened he had been talking to 
Mr. Hobbs about England and the Queen, and Mr. 
Hobbs had said some very severe things about the 

aristocracy, being specially indignant against earls 
and marquises. It had been a hot morning ; and 
after playing soldiers with some friends of his, 
Cedric had gone into the store to rest, and had 
found Mr. Hobbs looking very fierce over a piece 
of the Illustrated London News, which contained 
a picture of some court ceremony. 

''Ah," he said, " that 's the way they go on now ; 
but they '11 get enough of it some day, when those 
they 've trod on rise and blow 'em up sky-high, — 
earls and marquises and all! It's coming, and 
they may look out for it ! " 

Cedric had perched himself as usual on the high 
stool and pushed his hat back, and put his hands 
in his pockets in delicate compliment to Mr. 

" Did you ever know many marquises, Mr. 


Hobbs?" Ced- 
ric inquired, 
— "or earls?" 

"No," an- 
swered Mr. 
Hobbs, with 
indignation ; 

" I guess not. I 'd like to catch one of 'em inside 
here ; that 's all ! I '11 have no grasping tyrants 
sittin' 'round on my cracker-barrels ! " 

And he was so proud of the sentiment tlfct he 
looked around proudly and mopped his forehead. 

A X O V E M BEE E V E N I N G . 

"Perhaps they would n't be earls if they knew 
any better," said Cedric, feeling some vague sym- 
pathy for their unhappy condition. 

" Would n't they ! " said .Mr. Hobbs. " They 
just glory in it ! It 's in 'em. They 're a bad lot." 

They were in the midst of their conversation, 
when Mary appeared. Cedric thought she had 
come to buy some sugar, perhaps, but she had not. 
She looked almost pale and as if she were excited 
about something. 

"Come home, darlint," she said; "the mis- 
thress is wantin' yez. " 

Cedric slipped down from his stool. 

" Does she want me to go out with her, Mary ? " 
he asked. " Good morning, Mr. Hobbs. I '11 see 
you again." 

He was surprised to see Mary staring at him in 
a dumfounded fashion, and he wondered why she 
kept shaking her head. 

"What 's the matter, Mary?" he said. " Is it 
the hot weather? " 

"No," said Mary, "but there's strange things 
happenin' to us." 

"Has the sun given Dearest a headache?" he 
inquired anxiously. 

But it was not that. When he reached his own 
house there was a coupe standing before the door, 

and some one was in the little parlor talking to his 
mamma. Mary hurried him up-stairs and put on 
his best summer suit of cream-colored flannel with 
the red scarf around the waist, and combed out his 
curly locks. 

"Lords, is it?" he heard her say. " An' the 
nobility an' gintry. Och ! bad cess to them ! Lords 
indade — worse luck." 

It was really very puzzling, but he felt sure his 
mamma would tell him what all the excitement 
meant, so he allowed Mary to bemoan herself with- 
out asking many questions. When he was dressed, 
he ran down-stairs and went into the parlor. A 
tall, thin old gentleman with a sharp face was sitting 
in an arm-chair. His mother was standing near 
by with a pale face, and he saw that there were 
tears in her eyes. 

"Oh ! Ceddie !" she cried out, and ran to her 
little boy and caught him in her arms and kissed 
him in a little frightened, troubled way. "Oh! 
Ceddie, darling ! " 

The tall old gentleman rose from his chair and 
looked at Cedric with his sharp eyes. He rubbed 
his thin chin with his bony hand as he looked. 

He seemed not at all displeased. 

" And so," he said at last, slowly, — "and so this 
is little Lord Fauntleroy." 

{To bo continued.) 

By Celia Thaxter. 

The autumn night is dark and cold; 
The wind blows loud; the year grows old, 
The dead leaves whirl and rustle chill ; 
The cricket's chirp is long and shrill; 
The skies that were so soft and warm 
Mutter and bode of gathering storm. 
And now, within the homes of men 
The sacred hearth-fires gleam again, 
And joy and cheer and friendship sweet 
Within the charmed circle meet. 

The children watch with new delight 

The first fire, dancing redly bright, 

That drives away the dark and cold ; 

And Grace's slender fingers hold 

A braided fan from Mexico, 

To make the broad flames flare and glow. 

Alert, alive, they leap and run 
Like fierce bright streamers of the sun 
They shine on Robert's placid face, 
And tint the pensive cheek of Grace, 
And chase away the doubtful gloom 
From every corner of the room. 

O pleasant thought ! — that far and near 
Are gathering 'round each hearthstone 

Bright faces, happy smiles, and eyes 
Sweet with the summer's memories ! 
O holy altar-fires of home ! 
Tho' far and wide the children roam, 
Your charm for them shall still endure 
With love so strong and peace so sure. 





By H. H. (Helen Jackson.) 

I. The Magic Clocks. 

(A parable in two parts. ) 

One day, as four children, named Frank, James, 
Helen, and Elizabeth, were playing in front of 
their father's house, a queer thing happened. 
They had not heard the sound of approaching foot- 
steps ; but suddenly they saw a little old man stand- 
ing in front of the gate, leaning over it and looking 
at them. 

He carried upon his back a big box strapped 
with leathern bands, and held in place by a wide 
band passing across his chest. 

" Why, there 's a peddler ! " exclaimed Frank. 

" Mamma never buys anything of peddlers, you 
know," said Elizabeth. " She always tells Bridget 
to send them right away without calling her." 

"You need not come in," shouted James; 
" peddlers never sell anything here." 

The old man did not move nor speak, but stood 
still, with his eyes fixed on the children, looking 
first at one, then at another. 

" What a queer old man ! " said Helen in a 
whisper, coming up closer to her brother Frank. 
•• I wish he would go away. What makes him 
stare so at us ? " 

" Why does n't he speak? " said James. 

i88 5 .l 


"Perhaps he is deaf and dumb, poor man," 
said Elizabeth ; and she took a few hesitating 
steps toward the gate. 

At this the old man smiled. When he smiled, 
his face became beautiful. A sort of light spread 
all over it. As soon as the children saw the smile, 
they all began to walk toward him. He seemed 
to draw them, insensibly. They were half afraid, 
and yet they could not stay away from him. 

" No, dear children," he said ; " I am not deaf 
and dumb. I was only looking at your faces to 
see whether I should leave some of my magic 
clocks with you." 

At the word " magic," Frank was at once all 
attention. He had a passion for conjurors' tricks 
and for anything that was mystical. He thought 
he would rather be a prestidigitator than anything 
else in the world. 

"What is there magical about your clocks?" he 
asked eagerly. " I never heard of a magic clock." 

"We could n't buy any, Frank," whispered 
Elizabeth. " Mamma would n't let us." 

" They are not for sale, little lady," said the old 
man, smiling again. 

He had overheard her whisper. At this second 
smile the children drew still nearer him. They 
almost loved him. 

" Oh, do show them to us ! " cried Frank. 

" I thought you said you were thinking whether 
you could leave some of them here," said Helen, 
pettishly ; " and now you say they are not for sale. 
Then how could you leave them here ?" 

All the answer the old man made to this was to 
nod his head and say, as if to himself, " She needs 
one ! " And with that he slipped his box off his 
shoulders, set it down on the ground, and began to 
undo the leathern buckles. 

All the time that he was doing this, he kept 
repeating to himself some strange words that the 
children could not understand. It sounded like 
poetry ; but the language did not resemble any 
the children had ever heard. 

"What are you saying? Do talk English! 
can't you," exclaimed Helen hastily. She was a 
very quick-tempered little girl, and often said 
things that sounded as if she were very cross, when 
she was not cross at all, but only impatient. 

This time the old man looked at her sternly be- 
fore he nodded his head. 

" Yes," he said, — " she needs one badly ! " 

At this, Helen slipped behind Frank and, pulling 
his jacket, whispered : " Do make him go away, 
Frank ! He frightens me." 

" Be quiet ! " said Frank angrily, pushing her 
back. " Don't be so foolish ! I want to see the 
clocks ! " 

" So, ho ! He needs one, too ! " said the old man, 

without looking up, as he went on unbuckling 
strap after strap. 

"What does he mean?" said Elizabeth to 
James in a low tone. " I am afraid he is crazy. 
Poor old man ; what will become of him ? " 

At this the old man gave a smile that seemed 
to light up the whole place like a great sunbeam ; 
and he nodded his head three or four times ; and 
he fixed his eyes on Elizabeth's face with so beauti- 
ful an expression of good-will and affection, that she 
was ashamed of having thought he must be crazy. 

"Good girl! good girl!" he said. " Merry- 
bells for you." And as he spoke, he lifted out of his 
box a beautiful little white alabaster clock, not more 
than six inches high, and handed it to Elizabeth. 

" Oh, what a beauty ! " she cried. 

" But what is magical about it ?" asked Frank. 
" It looks just like other clocks." 

"No, not like other clocks," replied the old 
man, handing another one to Frank, and one to 
James, and one to Helen. They all were alike, — 
pure white alabaster, with gold faces, and wreaths 
of red roses painted on them. 

" I wonder if he stole them," whispered Helen 
to James. 

"Bang! bang! bang!" went the clock in her 
hands ! You would n't have thought so loud and 
harsh a note could come from so tiny a little 
clock. Helen was so frightened that she dropped 
it on the ground. 

"Oh!" cried Elizabeth, springing to catch it. 
" It will be broken ! How could you say so un- 
kind a thing, Helen ?" 

" Kling ! kiing ! kling ! " went the clock in 
Elizabeth's hands, with a note as sweet as a 
canary's voice ; but she was as frightened as 
Helen had been, and dropped her clock just as 
quickly on the ground at her feet. 

But they were not broken or cracked, and the 
old man, who seemed strangely nimble for his age, 
picked them both up before the two girls could reach 
them. Handing them back, he said, still smiling : 

"Magic clocks will stand a great many hard 
knocks without breaking." 

All this time Frank was turning his over and 
over, and looking at a little glass set in the back, 
through which the machinery could be seen. Frank 
knew something about the construction of clocks 
and watches. He had an old silver watch of his 
own that he had more than once taken to pieces 
and put together again. 

" Humph ! There is n't anything magical about 
these clocks," he declared at last, rather rudely. 
•• 1 can see all the wheels. They 're just such as 
are always in clocks." 

" Dong ! dong ! dong ! " struck the clock in his 
hands in a sharp, squeaking tone, not so loud and 




harsh as Helen's, but disagreeable enough to make 
Frank start and cry out with surprise. He did not 
let go of the clock, however, but held it even 
tighter, and began to look at it more closely. 

"Magic clocks! magic clocks!" said the old 
man ; and as he spoke these words, he disappeared 
from sight. Big box, leathern straps, old man, 
sunny smile — all had vanished from under the 
children's very eyes, as suddenly as if the earth 
had opened and swallowed him up. 

" Why ! where 's he gone ! " cried Elizabeth. 

Helen began to cry. 

" He 's a witch," she said. 

" Not a witch ! you little goose," said James, 
who was rather scared himself. "You mean a 
wizard, — a witch is a woman ! " 

a fact. Anyhow, we have the clocks, and we 
did n't have to pay the old fellow anything." 

"Dong! dong ! dong ! " said his clock, in a 
loud, discordant note. This time Frank himself 
was a little frightened. He put his clock down a 
little apart from the others, stepped back a few 
paces, thrust his hands into his pockets and began 
to whistle. 

"They seem to strike every few minutes, "he said, 
' ' without any sort of time about it. That 's queer. " 

" Let 's keep perfectly still and watch them," 
said James, " and see if they '11 do anything." 

Five minutes, ten, fifteen passed. Not a sound 
from the clocks. Not a sound from the children. 

" I Ye been thinking " began Elizabeth, 





E j 

- i; - ;-' 


" Bang ! bang ! bang ! " went James's clock, just 
as Helen's had done when she spoke unkindly. 

James set it down on the ground, close to the 
fence, and stepped away from it a few feet. Helen 
and Elizabeth put theirs down in a line with it. 
Frank still held his in his hands, and was looking 
all about for the old man ; up and down the street, 
even into the sky overhead. But there was not a 
trace of a human being in the street ; not a cloud 
in the sky overhead. 

"Well, it does look like magic ! " he said, "that's 

"Well, of course you have," broke in Helen; 
"we all have been thinking! we 're not ninnies." 

"Whang! whang! whang !" went Helen's clock 
in a tone so spiteful and hateful that all four of the 
children jumped. 

" That 's it ! I knew it ! " said Elizabeth. " I 
know what the magic is. The clocks will strike in 
that harsh way when we say mean, hateful things, 
and they '11 make a musical sound when we say 
pleasant things, and that '11 remind us all the time." 

" I believe that 's so," said Frank, thoughtfully. 

I88 S .] 


I I 

•' I wish the old man had n't gone. We don't 
know how to wind them up. They 're real 

" There is n't any keyhole in them," said James, 
who had been looking his over again, with close 

" I believe they don't need to be wound up," 
said Elizabeth. " I think they '11 keep on going 
always. They are n't really clocks at all. They 
are just magic things, like the things in the 'Ara- 
bian Nights.' " 

"That's so," said Frank. " Let 's take them 
into the house, and show them to Mamma. I won- 
der if she will let us keep them." 

" I think she will," said Helen, who was quite 
subdued by this time. " I think she '11 be glad to 
keep anything that will make me speak pleasantly 
when I feel cross ; and, as long as I live, I never 
want to hear another sound like that last loud one 
that my clock gave." 

" Nor I," said Frank. " Nor I," said James. 

" I liked the sound mine made," said Elizabeth ; 
" it was just like music." 

"Well, I suppose it always will be, Lizzie." said 
the other children, all speaking together; "be- 
cause you are always so sweet and good-natured, 
you know." 

Upon which all four of the clocks struck together 
three notes, so musical and sweet you would have 
said fairy-bells must have been ringing in the air. 

What the children's mother said when she saw 
the clocks, I do not know ; but she thought the 
children had imagined all about the clocks strik- 
ing ; for it was a very queer thing, that no matter 
how loudly the clocks struck, nobody but their 
owners could hear the sounds. At first this used 
to frighten the children, especially Helen, whose 
clock, I am sorry to say, had to strike loudly and 
harshly many times in a week. But more and 
more they came to feel that the clocks were 
their friends ; and that in some mysterious way 
which they could not understand, the old man 
who had brought them must be their friend too. 

" I think he'll be back again some day," said 
Elizabeth, one evening when they all had been 

having a fine play together, and each one of them 
had been trying to make all the others have a 
good time, and the little clocks had all rung out 
together a lovely chime of sweet " Kling-a-ling- 
lings." " I think he '11 come back to see whether 
we 've been helped by the clocks or not." 

" I think so, too," said Frank ; " and if he does, 
I tell you, I 'm going to grip his coat, and hold 
him tight till he 's answered all our questions." 

" I '11 be afraid to see him," sighed poor little 
Helen. " I have such a dreadful temper. But I 
do try very hard to conquer it, nobody knows how 
hard, and I don't mean ever to stop trying." 

" Kling-a-kiing-ling ! kling-ling ! ling! ling," 
said Helen's clock, which she had under her arm. 
She hardly ever stirred without it, — she was so anx- 
ious to be reminded always when she spoke crossly. 

" There ! That 's a comfort ! " she exclaimed. 
" It has n't made so sweet a sound as that for three 

" No wonder," said Frank, thoughtlessly ; 
"you've been a perfect spit-fire these last three 
days ; I 've wondered what ailed you." 

Helen's eyes filled with tears, and she was just 
about to make some angry reply, when " Bang! 
bang ! bang ! " came from Frank's chamber win- 
dow, which stood wide open. His clock was stand- 
ing on the window-sill. 

" I was caught that time," said Frank. " Never 
mind, Helen. I did n't mean to make you feel badly. 
I am very sorry I said it." 

" Kling-a-ling," said the little clock, in a gentle, 
soft note. 

" Does n't it sound like ' all right,' when they 
ring that way ? " said Elizabeth. " It is almost 
like a real voice speaking. I just wish the old 
man would come back ! " she continued. " I 'd like 
to thank him. We never thanked him, you know. 
He vanished so quickly." 

"I thinkhe'll come," replied Frank. " Magicians 
always do come back, in fairy stories. Don't you 
know, in so many stories it says, 'And the magician 
re-appeared ? ' " 

" That 's so ! " echoed James, " I 'm sure he '11 
come back." 

(To be continued.) 





[A TIuinksgivzKg-day Story. } 

By Sophie Swett. 

"What do you wish, Barty O'Flanigan?" 

Miss Sarah Wilhelmina Appleby put her head 
out at the window and spoke rather impatiently. 

Barty O'Flanigan was a small boy with a big 
basket and a bigger voice, while his brogue was 
something wonderful to hear. 

'■It 's the foine fat turrkey the misthress is afther 
promisin' me fur me Thanksgivin' I 'm wantin'," 
replied Barty. " Shure, did n't I ketch her ould 
horrse as was afther runnin' away, an' hould him 
till the arrums iv me was broke intirely ? An' sez 
the misthress to me, sez she, 'Barty,' sez she, 
' come up an' take your pick iv me foine fat turr- 
keys fur your Thanksgivin' dinner,' sez she. An' 
it 's here I am, Miss, be the same token." 

Miss Sarah Wilhelmina remembered her aunt's 
promise. " But Tim has gone to the station," she 
said. " You '11 have to come again when he can 
catch one for you." <j 

" An' why could n't I ketch it meself, an' me 
mother waitin' to pluck the feathers aff it, an' the 
misthress sayin' I could have me pick ? " queried 
Barty insinuatingly. 

" I don'tknowwhetheryou could catch one, Barty ; 
you 're so small," said Sarah Wilhelmina doubtfully. 

" The legs ov me is long," said Barty, displaying 
them with pride, " an' I can ketch any thing at 
all, so me mother sez — barrin' the maysles." 

Now Sarah Wilhelmina was in a hurry, for she 
was going away to spend Thanksgiving ; and 
Martha Washington was down cellar and Mancy 
had gone on an errand. 

" I know Aunt Doxy would n't wish him to be 
disappointed," she said to herself; and then she 
added aloud, "Oh, well, Barty; you may catch 
one if you can ; all the turkeys are out in the 
field " ; and with that, Sarah Wilhelmina rushed 
off to her train, while Barty betook himself to the 
field where the doomed Thanksgiving turkeys 
were enjoying the frosty November air. 

Two hours afterward Miss Eudoxia Appleby, 
the mistress of Pine Hill Farm, reached home 
with her small niece, Rebecca Ellen, and her 
nephew Thaddeus. 

"' I 'm almost sorry I let Sarah Wilhelmina go," 
said Aunt Doxy sadly. " I 'm afraid we shall 
have a very lonely Thanksgiving." 

As they usually had very jolly Thanksgivings at 
Pine Hill Farm, Becky and Thaddy grew sad also. 

and Becky, looking wistfully out of the window at 
a little house at the foot of the hill, said : 

" Better 'vite the people at the cottage ; then 't 
would n't be lonesome." 

Aunt Doxy spoke severely, almost sharply. 
"Becky," she said, "those people in the cottage 
are not such as I approve of, and neither of you 
children must even go near the fence." 

Nobody in Cressbrook knew just what to think 
of the "cottage people," as Aunt Doxy called 
them. They had taken the little house in the 
early spring, and had added peaks and gables and 
little piazzas to it, and had painted it in red and 
olive and yellow, until Aunt Doxy declared it 
a dreadful sight to see. 

And she did n't like the looks of the people any 
better. They wore fantastic finery and appeared 
as if they were always going to* a fancy-dress ball. 
The man who took care of their horse and cow 
had been seen in a Roman toga. The lady of the 
house fed the chickens in a Mother Hubbard dress 
of sea-green organdie, with a poke bonnet on her 
head and a ridiculous dove perched on her 
shoulder. And the children — a boy and girl of 
about the same ages as Thaddy and Becky — 
looked like a little grandfather and grandmother 
who had just stepped out of some old picture- 
frame, — or so Aunt Doxy thought. She even 
contemplated building a very high fence between 
the two gardens, lest Becky and Thaddy should 
take an interest in the small antique-looking per- 
sons who lived in the queer cottage. 

Of course they took an interest in them, and 
many stolen glances besides ; they soon found out 
in some way that the children at the cottage were 
named Rupert and Marguerite, and that they were 
kind and pleasant playmates. 

But in the midst of the children's horrifying as- 
sertion to Aunt Doxy, that they did n't believe 
Rupert and Marguerite were very bad children 
after all, there came a revelation that almost took 
the good lady's breath away. 

Emancipation, or Mancy, was the very black 
daughter of the equally black Martha Washington, 
whom Miss Eudoxia had imported from the South 
for household "helps" soon after the war. And 
Mancy now burst, almost breathless, into the room 
with the cry : 

" Oh, Miss Doxy ! de Princess gone ! " 

i88 5 .; 



"Gone? She hasn't flown over the cottage pea-fowls — " Prince and Princess Charming." The 

fence, has she?" exclaimed Aunt Doxy, in great Prince was a great, splendidly shaped peacock, with 

consternation. a magnificent display of tail-feathers ; the Princess 

" Wus 'n dat," declared Martha Washington, was of a dull color, and had no tail-feathers to 


bustling in after her daughter. "Wus 'n dat, spread. She was chiefly remarkable for a very- 
Miss Doxy ! she 's been pulled froo de fence ! " discordant voice. But Aunt Doxy seemed fonder 
Aunt Doxy was fond of pets and had a great of her than of the Prince. Perhaps it was because 
many, but her heart was especially set upon her everybody disparaged her. 




'• Pulled through the fence ! Why, what do you 
mean ? " she cried. 

Martha Washington's fat and jolly face was 
gloomy with prophecy. 

" Yo' knows, for a fac', Miss Doxy," she said, 
" how 'tractive dem peacocks has allays b'en to de 
fam'ly down dar," and she pointed a fat, disap- 
proving finger at the cottage, for Martha Wash- 
ington shared her mistress's prejudices. " De gem- 
man hisself done sit on de fence in de br'ilin' sun, 
a-takin' of dem off wiv his pencil, an' de leetle gal 
say her mammy done want a fan made out ob de 
Prince's tail. And see yar, Miss Doxy," — Martha 
Washington solemnly drew from her pocket a 
brownish-drab feather, — "I done fin' dis stickin' 
in de cottage fence whar de pore bird was pulled 
froo." And Martha Washington spread out both 
her fat hands, as if to emphasize her proof of the 
" cottage people's " guilt. 

Aunt Doxy was overcome. " O my poor Prin- 
cess! " she said. " What could they want it for?" 

"Why, to eat, Miss Doxy, o' course," declared 
Martha Washington. " Dat sort o' s'picious folks 
allays get de curusest t'ings to eat. Dey took 
Princess for deir T'anksgibin' dinner." 

"What ignorant, barbarous people they must 
be — to eat a peacock ! " said Aunt Doxy. " I cer- 
tainly must write a letter of remonstrance, and 
see what excuse they can offer for so unchristian 
an act." 

Aunt Doxy was considered by her fellow-workers 
in church and Sunday-school as having an 
especial gift for dealing with transgressors. So 
she seated herself at her desk, and proceeded to 
the task of bringing her sinful neighbors to a sense 
of their great wickedness. She did not hesitate 
to show them plainly the wrong of which they 
had been guilty, and she did not even deem it 
fitting that, as was often the case with her, jus- 
tice should be tempered with mercy. Aunt Doxy 
sadly feared that her objectionable neighbors were 
hardened offenders, whose hearts could not be 
easily touched. 

"Here, Thaddy," she said, as she folded her 
note, "you may carry this to the cottage; come 
back just as soon as you have delivered it — do you 
hear ? " 

And Thaddy, overjoyed at this opportunity to 
enter forbidden ground and have even a few 
moments of Rupert's society, replied. "Yes 'm," 
with suspicious docility, and ran off like a flash. 

" I hopes nuffin '11 happen to dat boy," muttered 
Martha Washington gloomily, as she went about 
her Thanksgiving-day preparations. She evidently 
believed there were no limits to the enormities of 
which the cottage people were capable. 

Half an hour passed by, and then Becky said, 

looking enviously toward the cottage, with her 
nose flattened against the window-pane : "I won- 
der why Thaddy does n 't come back ? " 

Aunt Doxy looked up in great alarm. " Had 
n 't he come back ? " she asked. How could she 
have forgotten him ? But surely they could not be 
wicked enough to harm a child. 

Tim was dispatched in great haste in search of 
the missing boy. He found him in the grove be- 
hind the cottage, playing with Rupert. Thaddy 
was silent and ashamed under Aunt Doxy's re- 
proof. Rupert had coaxed him to play, and he 
had played. That was all he would say, except the 
expression of his opinion that " Rupert was a good 
boy, and was going to have a donkey with long 
ears." It was evident that, in spite of the melan- 
choly fate of the poor Princess, Thaddy had a 
great longing for the society at the cottage. 

Miss Doxy sat up late, expecting a message of 
some sort from her neighbors, but none came. 
Poor Prince Charming was uttering doleful and 
discordant cries for the lost partner of his joys 
and sorrows. 

" Oh, how truly thankful I could be to-morrow," 
thought Aunt Doxy, "if those people had only 
gone back to town ! " 

But when she arose in the morning, a bright and 
jolly Thanksgiving sun was peeping above the 
gables of the little red, olive, and yellow cottage, 
and an ample Thanksgiving smoke was pouring 
out of its chimney. 

Aunt Doxy seated herself at the breakfast table 
sad at heart. The children said little, and the poor 
peacock recommenced his wailing. Suddenly 
there came a violent knocking at the back door. 
" The answer to my letter," thought Aunt Doxy. 

But it was n't. For the next moment there 
burst into the room a stout Irishwoman with a big 
basket, dragging in a shame-faced boy — Mrs. 
O'Flanigan and Barty ! 

From the basket arose a voice — muffled and 
hoarse, but still familiar, and sounding like sweet 
music to Aunt Doxy's ear. 

"O Miss Appleby, mum," said Mrs. O'Flanigan, 
"it's kilt intoirely I am, mum, wid shame, an' the 
hairt iv me is broke, so it is, that ivver I'd see the 
day whin me own boy — an' his fayther as sinsible 
a man as ivver shtepped in two shoes — wud n't 
know the difference betwane a turrkey an' a pay- 
cock ! Shure, he sez yersilf was away ' an the 
young leddy guv him lave to pick out a turrkey 
for himsilf, and he tuk this wan, so he did, for a 
foinc large turrkey, and him a-thryin' to wring the 
neck ov it when I hears the quare voice ov the 
craythur. And sez I, ' Whativer air ye about, 
ye spalpane ? ' sez I ; ' it do be Miss Appleby's pay- 
cock ve have there.' An' he havin' the neck of 

i88 5 . 



the poor baste half wrung, an' the craythur near 
kilt, I was afcerd to bring her home til ye. An' 
share, 1 shplinthered up the neck ov her and 
docthered her up wid swate ile, an' last night she'd 
ate a bit, an' this marnin'her voice had grown that 
swate and nat-chooral 't would bring tears to the 
oies ov yer. And, sez I to Barty, sez I, ' Come 
along up to Miss Appleby's wid me,' sez I, ' an' if 
it is n't hangin' ye '11 get,' sez I, ' it 's in the cowld 
jail ye '11 spind yer Thanksgivin'-day,' sez I, ' fur 
murtherin' ov her poor baste ov a paycock — an' ye 
wud have murthered her but for me,' sez I. " 

Barty looked as dejected as anything so small 
could well look; but he lifted up his gruff little 
voice courageously. 

" Shure, I niwer knew that a craythur could be 
a paycock widout a tail, at all, at all," he said 
piteously, " an' seein' it war n't martin' any harrum 
I was, an' the hairt ov me quite broke intoirely, an' 
me mither's, — an' we not havin' anythin' ban-in' 
praties for our Thanksgivin' dinner, shure ye moit 
lave me off, Miss Appleby, mum, — an' shure I 'llniv- 
ver come where I hear the voice ov a paycock agin. " 

Aunt Doxy was so happy to have her dear 
Princess restored that she could blame no one. 
" Never mind, Barty, you need n't feel badly," she 
said. "You shall have the turkey I promised 
you ; a fine, fat one, and all ready for the oven. 
— But, oh, dear," she exclaimed, " if I only had n't 
written that letter." 

Barty's woe-begone look gave place to a beam 
of happiness ; but as he and his mother went off 
with a fine turkey in the big basket, he still pro- 
tested that " shure it was not a right baste at all, 
at all, that pertinded to be a paycock an' had n't 
no iligint tail-feathers." 

Aunt Doxy was still bemoaning her sad mistake 
when Martha Washington, who felt that perhaps 
she was somewhat to blame in the matter, came in 
with a letter. 

" Oh, dear, is it the answer? " said Aunt Doxv. 

" Reckon not, Miss Doxy, it done come froo de 

post-offis," replied Martha Washington, scanning 
it closely. " 'Pears like it might be from Miss Sarah 

"Oh ! oh !" cried Aunt Doxy, as she read the 
letter, "what do you suppose Sarah Wilhelmina 
says ? She says that Mrs. Gracey knows the peo- 
ple in the cottage very well, and that she congrat- 
ulates me on having such delightful neighbors. 

They are Mr. A , the celebrated artist, and his 

family ; and Mrs. A is a daughter of my old 

minister, Dr. Forristall, who is going to spend 
Thanksgiving with them ! " 

Aunt Doxy dropped the letter in her lap. " Oh, 
that letter, that dreadful letter ! " she said. "What 
must they think of me ? " 

But now Tflfcddy looked up suddenly from a 
thoughtful consideration of the yellow kitten's eyes. 

" Are you sorry you wrote it, Aunt Doxy ; true as 
you live, and never do so again?" he asked solemnly, 
"and would you be a little easy on a fellow if — 
if — if an accident had happened to that letter ? " 

" Why, Thaddeus, what do you mean ? Tell me 
instantly," said Aunt Doxy. 

"Well," confessed Thaddy, "you see, before I 
rang the bell at the cottage Rupert asked me to play 
with him, and we went out to the grove back of the 
house, and he was making a kazoo on a comb and 
wanted a piece of paper, and so I pulled that let- 
ter out of my pocket, without thinking what it was, 
and tore it up, and I 'm awful sorry, but " 

" Thaddy, it was very, very wrong of you to be 
so careless and disobedient," said Aunt Doxy ; " but 
this time I do believe it was an interposition of 

And soon another letter was dispatched to the 
cottage, and Aunt Doxy followed it with an invi- 
tation to dinner. And Mr. A and Mrs. A 

and Rupert and Marguerite all came up from the 
cottage, and so did Dr. Forristall. And so it came 
to pass that they had a jolly Thanksgiving at Pine 
Hill Farm after all. And Barty O'Flanigan had 
his turkey, too. 


By Bessie Chandler. 

" Will you pull back the curtains, Mamma ? " he " Can you see it now ? " " No," he cheerfully said, 

said ; " But I can see its beautiful shine." 
" There 's a beautiful moon to-night, 

And I want to lie right here in my bed Dear baby ! his innocent answer I prize. 

And watch it, so yellow and bright." It is full of a meaning divine ; 

When the bright things we wish drift away 

So I tried to arrange the curtains and bed from our eyes, 

For the dear little laddie of mine. May not we, too, rejoice in their "shine?" 





By Louisa M. Alcott. 

" I SHALL take Mamma's red sun-umbrella ; it 
is so warm, — and none of the children at school will 
have one like it," said Lilly, one day, as she went 
through the hall. 


" The wind is very high ; I 'm afraid you '11 be 
blown away if you carry that big thing," called 
nurse from the window. 

" I wish I could be blown away; I always wanted 
to go up in a balloon," answered Lilly, as she strug- 
gled out of the gate. 

She managed quite well until she came to the 
bridge, where she stopped to look over the railing 
at the fast-running water below, and the turtles 
sunning themselves on the rocks. Lilly was fond 
of throwing stones at the turtles; she thought it 
funny to watch them tumble with a headlong 

splash into the water. Now, when she saw three 
big fellows close by, she stooped for a stone, but 
just at that very minute a gale of wind nearly 
took the umbrella out of her hand. She clutched 
it tightly ; and away she went like a thistle-down, 
right up in the air, over river and hill, houses 
and trees, faster and faster and faster, till her 
head spun around, her breath was all gone, and 
she had to let go. The dear red umbrella 
flew away like a leaf; and Lilly fell down, down, 
till she came crash into a tree which grew in so 
curious a place that she forgot her fright as she sat 
looking about her. 

The tree looked as if it were made of glass or 
colored sugar; for she could look through the red 
cherries, the green leaves, and the brown branches. 
An agreeable aroma came to her nose. "Oh," she 
cried at once, as would any child have said, " I 
smell candy ! " She picked a cherry and ate it. 
Oh, how good it was! — all sugar and no stone. 
The next discovery was so delightful that she 
nearly fell off her perch ; for by touching her 
tongue here and there, she found the whole tree 
was made of candy. What a pleasure to sit and 
break off twigs of barley sugar, candied cher- 
ries, and leaves that tasted like peppermint and 
sassafras ! 

Lilly rocked in the branches and ate away until 
she had finished the top of the little tree ; then 
she climbed down and strolled along, making 
more surprising and agreeable discoveries as she 

What looked like snow under her feet was white 
sugar; the rocks were lumps of chocolate; the flow- 
ers were of all colors and tastes ; and every sort of 
fruit grew on those delightful trees. Little white 
houses soon appeared ; and in them lived the 
dainty candy people, all made from the best sugar, 
and painted to look like real people. Dear little 
men and women, looking as if they had stepped 
off of cakes and bonbons, went about in their gay 
sugar clothes, laughing and talking in sweet-toned 
voices. Bits of babies rocked in open-work cradles 
and sugar boys and girls played with sugar toy 
in a very natural way. Carriages rolled along 
the jujube streets, drawn by red and yellow barley 
horses ; cows fed in the green fields, and sugar 
birds sang in the candy trees. 

Lilly listened, and in a moment she understood, 
in some way, just what the song said, — 




' Sweet ! Sweet ! 
Lome, come and eat 
Dear little girls 
With yellow curls ; 
For here you 1! find 
Sweets to your mind. 
On every tree 
Sugar-plums you '11 see ; 
In every dell 
Grows the caramel; 
Over every wall 
Gum-drops fall ; 
Molasses flows 
Where our river goes; 
Under your feet 
Lies sugar sweet ; 
Over yotir head 
Grow almonds red. 
Our lily and rose 
Are not for the nose ; 
Our flowers we pluck 
To eat or suck ; 
And, oh ! what bliss 

When two friends kiss, 
For they honey sip 
From lip to lip ! 
And all you meet, 
In house or street, 
At work or at play, 
Sweethearts are they. 

So, little dear. 
Pray feel no fear; 
Go where you will : 
Eat, eat your till ; 
Here is a feast 
From west to east ; 
And you can say, 
Ere you go away: 
( At last I stand 
In dear Candy-land." 
Sweet ! Sweet! 
Tweet ! Tweet ! 
Tweedle-dee ! 
Tweedle-dee ! " 

'" That is the most interesting song I ever heard, 1 
said Lilly, clapping her hands and dancing along 

with no tiresome school or patchwork to spoil my 
fun," said Lilly. 

So she ran up the chocolate steps into the pretty 
rooms, where all the chairs and tables were of every 
colored candy, ;md the beds of spun sugar. A 
fountain of lemonade supplied drink ; and floors of 
ice-cream that never melted kept people and 
things from sticking together, as they would have 
done, had it been warm. 

For some time Lilly was quite happy, in going 
about, tasting the many different kinds of sweets, 
talking to the little people, who were very amiable, 
and finding out curious things about them and 
their country. 

The babies were plain sugar, but the grown 
people had different flavors. The young ladies were 
mostly violet, rose, or orange ; the gentlemen were 
apt to have cordials of some sort inside of them, 
as she found when she slyly ate one now and then, 
and as a punishment had her tongue bitten by the 


toward a fine palace of white cream candy, with hot, strong taste. The old people were peppermint, 

pillars of striped peppermint-stick, and a roof of clove, and such comfortable flavors, good for pain : 

frosting that made it look like Milan Cathedral. but the old maids were lemon, flag-root, and all 

tl I 'II live here, and eat candy all day long, sorts of sour, bitter things, and were not eaten 

Vol. XIII.— 2. 



much. Lilly soon learned to know the characters 
of her new friends by a single taste, and some 
she never touched but once. The dear babies 
melted in her mouth, and the delicately flavored 
young ladies she was very fond of. Dr. Ginger 
was called to her more than once when so much 
candy made her teeth ache, and she found him a 
very hot-tempered little man ; but he stopped 
the pain, so she was glad to see him. 

A lime-drop boy and a little pink checkerberry 
girl were her favorite playmates ; and they had fine 
times making mud-pies by scraping the chocolate 
rocks and mixing this dust with honey from the 
wells near by. These pies they could eat ; and 
Lilly thought this much better than throwing them 
away, as she had to do at home. They had candy- 
pulls very often, and made swings of long loops of 
molasses candy, and birds'-nests with almond eggs, 
out of which came birds that sang sweetly. They 
played foot-ball with big bull's-eyes, sailed in sugar 
boats on lakes of syrup, fished in rivers of molasses, 
and rode the barley horses all over the country. 

Lilly discovered that it never rained, but that it 
white-sugared. There was no sun, as it would 
have been too hot ; but a large yellow lozenge 
made a nice moon, and there were red and white 
comfits for the stars. 

All the people lived on sugar, and never quar- 
reled. No one was ill ; and if any one was 
broken, as sometimes happened with so brittle 
creatures, the fractured parts were just stuck to- 
gether and all was right again. When they grew 
old they became thinner and thinner, till there was 
danger of their vanishing. Then the friends of the old 
person bore him to the great golden urn, always full 
of a certain fine syrup, which stood in their largest 
temple; and into that he was dipped and dipped 
till he was stout and strong again, and went home 
as good as new, to enjoy himself for a long time. 

This was very interesting to Lilly, and she went 
to many such rejuvenations. But the weddings 
were better still ; for the lovely white brides were 
so sweet that Lily longed to eat them. The feasts 
were delicious ; the guests all went in their best 
clothes, and danced at the ball till they grew so 
warm that half-a-dozen would stick together and 
would have to be taken to the ice-cream room to 
cool off. Then the happy pair would drive away 
in a fine carriage with white horses to a new palace 
in some other part of the country, and Lilly would 
have another pleasant place to visit. 

But by and by, when she had seen everything, 
and eaten so many sweet things that at last she 
longed for plain bread and butter, she began to be 
cross, as children always are when they live on 
candy ; and the little people wished she would go 
away, for they were afraid of her. No wonder, 

for she would sometimes catch up a dear sugar baby 
and eat it, or break some respectable old grand- 
mamma all into bits because she reproved her for 
her naughty ways. Finally, Lilly calmly sat down 
on the biggest church, crushing it flat, and one day 
in a pet, she even tried to poke the moon out of 
the sky. The King ordered her to go home ; but 
she said, " I wont ! " and, with a petulant motion, 
she knocked off his head, crown and all. 

Such a wail went up at this awful deed that she 

ran away out of the city, fearing that someone would 
put poison in her candy, since she had no other food. 

" I suppose I shall bring up somewhere if I keep 
on walking; and I can't starve, though I hate the 
sight of this horrid stuff," she said to herself, as she 
hurried over the mountains of Gibraltar rock that 
divided the city of Saccharissa behind her from the 
great desert of brown sugar that lay beyond. 

Lilly marched bravely across this desert for a long 
time, and saw at last a great smoke in the sky, 
smelt a spicy smell, and felt a hot wind blowing 
toward her. 

" I wonder if there are sugar savages here, roast- 
ing and eating some poor traveler like me," she 
said, thinking of Robinson Crusoe and other wan- 
derers in strange lands. 

She crept carefully along till she saw a settle- 
ment of little huts very like mushrooms, for they 
were made of cookies set on lumps of brown sugar. 
Queer people, looking as if made of gingerbread, 
were working very busily around several stoves 
which seemed to be baking away at a great rate. 

" I '11 creep nearer and see what sort of people 
they are before I show myself," thought Lill)-, going 
into a grove of spice trees and sitting down on a 
stone which proved to be the plummy sort of cake 
we used to call Brighton Rock. 

Presently one of the tallest men came striding 
toward the trees with a pan, evidently to get spice ; 
and before Lilly could run away he saw her. 

i88 S .] 



" Hullo, what do you want? " he asked, staring 
at her with his black-currant eyes, while he briskly- 
picked the bark off a cinnamon tree. 

" I 'm traveling, and should like to know what 
place this is, if you please," answered Lilly, very 
politely, as she was rather frightened. 

"Cake-land. Where did you come from?'' 
asked the gingerbread man, in a crisp tone of 

"I was blown into the Candy country, and have 
been there a long time ; but I grew tired of it and 
ran away to find something better." 

" Sensible child ! " and the man smiled till Lilly 
thought his cheeks would crumble. " You '11 like 
it better here with us Cake-folk than with the lazy 
Bonbons, who never work and are all for show. 
They wont recognize us, though we all are related 
through our grandparents Sugar and Molasses. 
We are busy folk ; so they turn up their noses 
and don't speak when we meet at parties. Poor 
creatures, — silly, and sweet, and unsubstantial ! 
I pity 'em." 

" Could I make you a visit ? I 'd like to see 
how you live and what you do. I 'm sure it must 
be interesting," said Lilly, picking herself up after 
a tumble, having eaten nearly all the cake she 
was sitting on. she was so hungry. 

" Of course you can," said her friend. "Come 
on ! I can talk while I work." 

And the funny gingerbread man trotted away 
toward his kitchen, which was full of pans, rolling- 
pins, and molasses jugs. 

" Sit down. I shall be at leisure as soon as this 
batch is baked. There are still some wise people 
down below who like gingerbread, and I have my 
hands full," he said, dashing about, stirring, roll- 
ing out, and slapping the brown dough into pans, 
which he whisked into the oven and out again so 
fast that Lilly knew there must be magic about it 

Every now and then he threw her a delicious 
cookie warm from the oven. She liked the queer 
fellow, and soon began to ask all sorts of questions, 
as she was very curious about this country. 

"What is your name, sir?" she ventured, first. 

" Ginger-Snap," he answered, briskly. 

Lilly thought it a good name ; for he was very 
quick, and she fancied he could be short and sharp 
if he liked. 

"Where does all this cake go?" she asked, 
after she had watched a great many other kitchens 
full of workers, who all were of different kinds of 
cake, and each making its own sort. 

"I'll show you by and by," answered Snap. 
beginning to pile up the heaps of gingerbread on 
a little car that ran along a track leading to some 
distant store-room, Lilly thought. 

" Don't you become tired of doing this all the 
time?" she asked. 

" Yes; but I wish to be promoted, and I never 
shall be till I 've done my best, and won the prize 
here," Snap explained. 

" Oh, tell me about it ! " cried Lilly. " What is 
the prize, and how are you promoted ? Is this a 
cooking-school ?" 

" Yes; the prize for best gingerbread is a cake 
of condensed yeast," said Snap. " That puts a soul 
into me, and I begin to rise until I am able to float 
over the hills yonder into the blessed land of bread, 
and be one of the happy creatures who are always 
wholesome, always needed, and without which the 
world below would be in a bad way." 

" Dear me ! that is the queerest thing I 've 
heard yet ! " said Lilly. " But 1 don't wonder you 
want to go ; I 'm tired of sweets myself, and just 
long for a good piece of bread, though I always 
used to want cake and candy at home." 

" Ah, my dear, you '11 learn a great deal here ; 
and you are lucky not to have fallen into the 
clutches of Giant Dyspepsia, who always gets 
people if they eat too much of such rubbish as 
cake and candy, and scorn wholesome bread. I 
leave my ginger behind when I go, and become 
white and round and beautiful, as you will see. 
The Gingerbread family have never been as foolish 
as some of the other cakes. Wedding-cake is the 
worst ; such extravagance in the way of wine and 
spice and fruit I never saw, and such a mess to eat 
when it 's done ! I don't wonder it makes people 
sick; serves 'em right." And Snap flung down a 
pan with a bang that made Lilly jump. 

"Sponge-cake is n't bad, is it? Mamma lets 
me eat it. but I like frosted pound-cake better," she 
said, looking over to the next kitchen, where piles 
of that sort of cake were being iced. 

" Poor stuff. No substance. Ladies' fingers 
will do for babies, but Pound has too much butter 
to be wholesome. Let it alone, and eat cookies 
or seed-cakes, my dear. Now, come along; I 'm 
ready." And Snap trundled away his car-load at 
a great pace. 

Lilly ran behind to pick up whatever fell, and 
looked about her as she went, for this was certainly 
a very queer country. Lakes of eggs all beaten 
up, and hot springs of saleratus foamed here and 
there, ready for use. The earth was brown sugar 
or ground spice ; and the only fruits were raisins, 
dried currants, citron, and lemon peel. It was a 
very busy place ; for every one cooked all the time, 
and never failed and never seemed tired, though 
they were always so hot that they only wore sheets 
of paper for clothes. There were piles of it to put 
over the cake, so it should n't burn : and they 
made cooks' white caps and aprons of it. which 




looked very tine. A large clock made of a flat 
pancake, with cloves to mark the hours and two 
toothpicks for hands, showed them how long to 
bake things ; and in one place an ice wall was 
built around a lake of butter, which they cut in 
lumps as they wanted it. 

■' Here we are. Now, stand aside while I pitch 
'em down." said Snap, stopping at last before a 
hole in the ground where a dumb-waiter, with a 
name over it, hung ready. 

There were many holes all about, and many 
dumb-waiters, each with a special name ; and Lilly 
was amazed when she read "Weber," "C operand," 
"Dooling,"* and others, which she knew very 

Over Snap's place was the name " Newmarch," 
and Lilly said : "Why, that 's where Mamma gets 
her hard gingerbread, and Weber's is where we 
go for ice-cream. Do you make cake for them ? " 

"Yes, but no one knows it. It's one of the 

— M^- 

"good joke, is n't it?" 

secrets of the trade. We cook for all the confec- 
tioners, and people think the good things come 
out of the cellars under their shops. Good joke, 
is n't it ? " And Snap laughed till a crack came 
in his neck and made him cough. 

Lilly was so surprised that she sat down on a 
warm queen's-cake that happened to be near, and 
watched Snap send down load after load of ginger- 
bread to be eaten by children, who would have 
liked it much better if they had only known, as did 
she, where it all came from. 

As she sat on the queen's cake there came 
up through the nearest hole, which was marked 
" Copeland," the clatter of many spoons, the 
smell of many dinners, and the sound of many- 
voices calling: — "One vanilla, two strawberries, 
and a Charlotte Russe" ; " Three stews, cup coffee, 
dry toast " ; " Roast chicken and apple without ! " 

■• Dear me ! it seems as if I were there," said 
Lilly, longing to hop down, but afraid of the bump 
at the other end. 

"That 's done. Come along. I '11 ride you back," 
called Snap, shying the last cookie after the dumb- 
waiter as it went slowly out of sight with its spicy 

" I wish you 'd teach me to cook. It must be 
great fun, and Mamma wants me to learn ; only our 
cook hates to have me around the kitchen, and she 
is so cross that I don't like to try, at home," said 
Lilly as she went trundling back on Snap's car. 

" Better wait till you go to Bread-land, and 
learn to make bread. It 's a great art, and worth 
knowing. Don't waste your time on cake, though 
plain gingerbread is n't bad to have in the house. 
I '11 teach you that in a jiffy, if the clock does n't 
strike my hour too soon," answered Snap, helping 
her down. 

" What hour ? " inquired Lilly. 

" Why, the hour of my freedom. I shall never 
know when I 've done my task until I'm called 
by the chimes and go to get my soul," answered 
Snap, turning his currant eyes anxiously toward 
the clock. 

" I hope you will have time," said Lilly as she 
fell to work with all her might, after Snap had 
fitted her with a paper apron and a cap like his. 

It was not hard ; for when she was about to 
make a mistake, a spark flew out of the fire and 
burnt her in time to remind her to look at the 
recipe, which was hung up before her on a sheet 
of gingerbread in a frame of pie-crust; the direc- 
tions had been written on it while it was soft and 
baked in. The third sheet she made came out of the 
oven spicy, light, and brown ; and Snap, giving it 
one poke with his finger, said, "That 's all right. 
Now you know. Here 's your reward." 

He handed her a recipe-book made of thin 
sheets of sugar gingerbread held together by a gel- 
atine binding, with her name stamped on the back, 
and each leaf crimped with a cake-cutter in a 
very delightful manner. 

Lilly was charmed with it, but had no time to 
read all it contained; for just then the clock be- 
gan to strike, and a chime of bells to ring : 

" Gingerbread, 
Go to the head. 
Your task is done : 
A soul is won. 
Take it and go 
Where muffins grow, 
Where sweet loaves rise 
To the very skies, 
And biscuits fair 

Perfume the air. 
Away, away ! 
Make no delay; 
Into the Flour 
Sea, plunge this hour. 
Safe in your breast 
Let the yeast-cake rest. 
Till you rise in joy, 
A white-bread boy ! " 

" Ha, ha ! I 'm free ! I 'm free ! " cried Snap, 
catching up a square silver-covered cake that 
seemed to fall from somewhere above : and run- 

■ Well-known Boston caterers. 



ning to the great white sea of flour, he dashed in, 
head first, holding the yeast-cake clasped to his 
breast as if his life depended on it. 

Lilly watched breathlessly, while a curious work- 
ing and bubbling went on, as if Snap were tumbling 
about down there like a small earthquake. The 
other cake-folk stood with her upon the shore ; 
for it was a great event, and all were glad that the 
dear fellow had been promoted so soon. Suddenly 
a cry was heard, and on the farther side of the sea 
up rose a beautiful white figure. It waved its hand 
as if bidding all "Good-bye," and ran over the 
hills so fast they had only time to see how plump 
and fair it was, with a little knob on the top of 
its head like a crown. 

"He 's gone to the happy Land of Bread, and we 
shall miss him ; but we '11 follow his example and 
soon find him again," said a gentle Sponge-cake, 
with a sigh, as they all went back to their work ; 
while Lilly hurried after Snap, eager to see the new 
country, which she was sure must be the best of all. 

A delicious odor of fresh bread blew up from 
the valley as she stood on the hill-top and looked 
down on the peaceful scene below. Fields of yel- 
low grain waved in the breeze ; hop-vines grew 
from tree to tree ; and the white sails of many 


windmills whirled around as they ground the dif- 
ferent grains into fresh, sweet meal, for the loaves 
of bread with which the houses were built and the 
streets paved, and which in many shapes formed 
the people, furniture, and animals. A river of 
milk flowed through the peaceful land, and fount- 
ains of yeast rose and fell with a pleasant foam 
and fizz. The ground was a mixture of many 
meals, and the paths were golden Indian, which 
gave a very gay look to the scene. Buckwheat 
flowers bloomed on their rosy stems, and tall corn- 

stalks rustled their leaves in the warm air that came 
from the ovens hidden in the hill-sides ; for bread 
needs a slow fire, and an obliging volcano did the 
baking there. 

" What a lovely place ! " cried Lilly, feeling the 
charm of the home-like landscape, in spite of the 
funny, plump people moving about. 

Two of these figures came running to meet her 
as she slowly walked down the yellow path from 
the hill. One was a golden boy, with a beaming 
face ; the other a little girl in a shiny brown cloak, 
who looked as if she would taste very nice. They 
each put a warm hand into Lilly's, and the boy 
said: "We are glad to see you. Muffin told us 
you were coming." 

" I thank you. But who is Muffin ?" asked Lilly, 
feeling as if she had seen both these little people 
before, and liked them. The boy answered her 
question immediately : 

" He was Ginger-Snap once, but he 's a Muffin 
now. We begin in that way, and work by degrees 
up to the perfect loaf. My name is Johnny-Cake, 
and here 's Sally Lunn. You know us ; so come 
on and have a race." 

Lilly burst out laughing at the idea of playing 
with these old friends of hers ; and away ran all 
three as fast as they could 
tear, down the hill, over a 
bridge, into the middle of 
the village, where they 
stopped, panting, and sat 
down on some very soft 
rolls to rest. 
£0* 11^ "What do you all do 

here ? " asked Lilly, when 
she got her breath again. 

" We farm, we study, 
we bake, we brew, and 
are merry as crickets all 
day long. It 's school- 
time now, and we must 
go; will you come?" said 
Sally, jumping up as if 
she liked going to school. 

"Our schools are not 
like yours ; we study only 
two things — grain and yeast. I think you '11 like 
it. We have yeast to-day, and the experiments are 
very jolly," added Johnny, trotting off to a tall 
brown tower of rye and Indian bread, where the 
school was kept. 

Lilly never liked to go to school, but she was 
ashamed to own it : so she went along with Sally, 
and was so amused with all she saw that she was 
glad she had come. The brown loaf was hollow. 
and had no roof; and when she asked why they 
used a ruin, Sally told her to wait and see why they 




chose strong walls and plenty of room overhead. 
All around was a circle of very small biscuits like 
cushions, and on these the Bread-children sat. 
A square loaf in the middle was the teacher's 
desk, and on it lay an ear of wheat, with several 
bottles of yeast well corked up. The teacher was 

I - l 

,''--. ■ 

i ■ 


- / 


a pleasant, plump lady from Vienna, very wise. 
and so famous for her good bread that she was a 
Professor of Grainology. 

When all were seated, she began her lesson with 
the wheat ear, and told all about it in so interest- 
ing a way that Lilly felt as if she had never before 
known anything about the bread she ate. The 
experiments with the yeast were quite exciting, — 
for Fraulcin Pretzel showed them how it would work 
until it blew the cork out, and went fizzing up to the 
sky, if it were kept too long ; how it would turn sour 
or flat, and spoil the bread if care were not taken to 
use it at just the right moment; and how too 
much would cause the loaf to rise until there was no 
substance to it. 

The children were very bright ; for they were 
fed on the best kinds of oatmeal and Graham 
bread, with very little white or hot cakes to spoil 
their young stomachs. Hearty, happy boys and girls 
they were, and their yeasty souls were very lively 
in them ; for they danced and sang, and seemed 
as bright and gay as if acidity, heaviness, and 
mold were quite unknown. 

Lilly was very happy with them, and when school 
was done raced home with Sally, and ate for dinner 
the best bread and milk that she had ever tasted. 
In the afternoon Johnny took her to the corn-field, 
and showed her how they kept the growing ears 
free from mildew and worms. Then she went to 
the bake-house, and here she found her old friend 
Muffin hard at work making Parker House rolls, 
for he was so good a cook that he was set to work 
at once on the lighter kinds of bread. 

" Well, is n't this better than Saccharissa or 
even Cake-land ? " he asked, as he rolled and 
folded his bits of dough with a dab of butter tucked 

" Ever so much ! " cried Lilly. " I feel better 
already, and I mean to learn all I can. Mamma will 
be so pleased if I can make good bread when I go 
home ! She is rather old-fashioned, and wishes me 
to be a good housekeeper. I never could think 
bread interesting, then, but I do, now ; and John- 
ny's mother is going to teach me to make Indian 
cakes to-morrow." 

" Glad to hear it ! " said Snap. " Learn all you 
can, and tell other people how to make healthy 
bodies and happy souls by eating good plain food. 
Not like this, though these rolls are better than 
cake. I have to work my way up to the perfect 
loaf, you know ; and then, oh, then, I shall be a 
happy thing ! " 

" What happens then ? Do you go on to some 
other wonderful place?" asked Lilly, as Muffin 
paused, with a smile on his face. 

" Yes ; I am eaten by some wise, good human 
being, and become a part of him or her. That is 
my happy destiny ; for I may nourish a poet 
and help him sing, or feed a good woman who 
makes the world better for being in it, or be 
crumbed into the golden porringer of a baby prince 


who is to rule a kingdom. Is n't that a noble hope 
to have, and an end worth working for ? " asked 
Muffin, in a tone that made Lilly feel as if she 
had some sort of fine yeast inside her, which was 
setting her brain to work with quite new thoughts. 


'• Yes, it is. I suppose that all things are made 
for some such purpose, if we only knew it ; and 
people should be glad to do anything to help the 
world along, if only by making good bread in a 
kitchen," answered Lilly in a sober way. 

She staid in Bread-land a long time, and en- 
joyed and learned a great deal that she never for- 
got. But at last, when she had made the perfect 
loaf, she wished to go home, that her mother might 
see it and taste it. 

" 1 've put a great deal of myself into it, and I' d 
love to think I had given her strength or pleasure 
by my work," she said, as she and Sally stood 
looking at the handsome loaf. 

" You can go whenever you like ; just take the 
bread in your hands and wish three times, and 
you '11 be wherever you desire to be. I 'm sorry 
you must go, but I don't wonder you want to see 
your mother. Don't forget what you have learned, 
and you will always be glad that you came to us," 
said Sally, kissing her good-bye. 

" Where is Muffin? I can't go without seeing 

him — my dear old friend," answered Lilly, look- 
ing around for him. 

" He is here," said Sally, touching the loaf. " fie 
was ready to go, and chose to pass into your bread 
rather than any other; for he said he loved you, and 
would be glad to help feed so good a little girl." 

" How kind of him ! 1 must be careful to grow 
wise and excellent, or he wiil be disappointed and 
will have lived in vain," said Lilly, touched by his 

Then bidding them all farewell, she hugged her 
loaf close, wished three times to be at her own 
home, and like a flash she was there. 

Whether her friends believed the wonderful tale 
of her adventures, I can not tell ; but I know that 
she was a nice little housekeeper from that day, 
and made bread so good that other girls came to 
learn of her. She also grew from a sickly, fretful 
child into a fine, strong, healthy woman, because 
she ate very little cake and candy, except at Christ- 
mas-time, when the oldest and the wisest of us 
like to make a short visit to Candv-land. 

By Dora Read Goodale. 

My neighbor wears a cotton dress ; — 
She comes with marigold and cress 

All dripping, coiled together. 
The willow basket in her hand 
Is bright with water and with sand, 

This happy, happy weather ! 

" Who '11 buy? " Who would not buy? 

— They grew beside an April stream, 
Beneath an April sky ! 

Again 1 meet her, flushed and brown. 
With braid and bonnet slipping down ; 

She looks upon me gayly. 
She knows the grassy upland farm 
Where berries ripen high and warm, 

And redden deeper daily ! 

'•Who'll buy?" Who would not buy? 

— She found them in the summer fields. 
Beneath a summer sky ! 

To-day she enters at my gate ; 
She steps inside the sill to wait ; 
And so once more I find her. 
Alack! the whirling leaves are brown, — 
And he who shook the chestnuts down 
Is standing there behind her ! 
" Who '11 buy?" Who would not buy? 

— They found them in the autumn woods. 
Beneath a frosty sky ! 

2 4 



By Charles Frederick Holder. 


A number of years ago a party of English 
naturalists, with several native attendants, pene- 
trated a previously unexplored portion of India for 
the purpose of establishing stations, and eventually 
opening up a country very rich in natural advan- 
tages. To the ordinary observer, the slow progress 
of the party and the evident caution taken in the 
march would have seemed unnecessary except in 
time of war and when proceeding against a vigilant 
enemy ; but the mission was one of peace, and all 
their care and precaution were taken to guard 
against the dangerous animals that infested the 
jungle. The most dreaded of all were the tiger 
and the cobra, and so common were these foes, that 
even in the neighborhood of the towns and cities 
thousand of persons annually fell victims to them. 

For days they had been penetrating a wooded 
region, but one evening they came upon a clear. 

undulating stretch of country that seemed, in the 
opinion of the officer in charge, favorable for the 
object of their trip; so a halt was ordered, the brush 
was cleared away, great patches that might have 
concealed the deadly cobra were burned, and the 
tents were pitched. In a few days the workmen 
had commenced their task of erecting a substantial 
building. It was necessary to have a large and 
deep cellar for the reception of certain stores, and 
in a short time a, deep excavation was made. 

The earth was dry and sandy, and was worked 
with ease. The absence of iargc stones was 
noticed ; indeed, there was found no hard sub- 
stance that would have interested a geologist. But 
late in the afternoon of the first day's work, one of 
the natives struck his pick against a resisting sub- 
stance. Another blow, and the implement broke 
through into a hollow space. The earth being 


2 5 

scraped away, a large smooth object was exposed, 
of so strange an appearance that the attention 
of the commanding officer was called to it. He 
at once pronounced it a bone of some kind. 

The fact that they had come upon the grave of 
a strange animal created great excitement, and all 
hands went to work clearing away the sand. As 
they progressed, their wonder and amazement 
increased also ; their discovery began to assume 
the shape of a dome, a: id appeared to be rounded 
off. Finally, when four feet or more of sand had 
been cleared away, they saw a hut-shaped object, 
that seemed, through the hole made by the pick, to 
be partly hollow. The natives one and all there- 
upon declared it a hut, or house, built by some of 

ing to an age long past. The work progressed 
rapidly ; and though when exposed to the sun 
some parts broke in pieces, the entire shell was 
successfully uncovered and finally a complete res- 
toration of it was made. 

The shell was that of a land-tortoise (called 
by naturalists Colossochelys Atlas). Hundreds of 
thousands of years ago the monster had lived and 
died : — and the dust, sand, and vegetation had 
gradually covered it up and preserved it as a monu- 
ment of the animal wonders of that ancient time. 

So enormous was the shell that when the sand 
and dirt were removed, several of the men crawled 
into it ; in fact, it might have been used as a 
house, and on a subsequent occasion was so used 


their ancestors, that had in course of time been 
covered by the earth. Others thought it one of 
the dwelling-places of a strange people who lived 
under the earth ; but to the English naturalists 
there was a more simple explanation, for the curi- 

by a party which took refuge in it during a sudden 
shower. Unfortunately, a heavy storm finally de- 
stroyed the great turtle-shell. Others, however, 
were discovered in different localities, and from 
one a restoration was made which was placed in the 
collection of the British Museum, [t represents 




the shell of a young land-tortoise, and measures 
ten feet in length, twenty-five feet in horizontal 
circumference, and fifteen feet in girth in a verti- 
cal direction. 

The Colossochelys was a land-turtle that fed 
upon vegetation, and in the Galapagos Islands, 
its modern representatives, at least in regard to 
size, are found to-day. These islands, numbering 
about fifteen in all, are situated in the Pacific 
Ocean, directly under the equator, and about six 
hundred miles west of Ecuador. They were first 
discovered by the Spaniards in the beginning of the 

one of them is approached, it draws in legs, head, 
and tail, and falls with a loud hiss. If now the 
captor is disposed to ride, as was Mr. Darwin, he 
can mount upon the turtle's back, and be carried 
along at a fair rate of speed. 

Though the great land-tortoise was the largest 
turtle of India, there has been found in our own 
country the remains of a sea-turtle that may have 
exceeded it in point of size. It was found near 
Fort Wallace, in western Kansas. The discoverer 
first observed the large bony shields projecting 
from a bluff near Butte Creek. Thev were care- 

sixteenth century ; and from the numbers of gi- 
gantic turtles found there, those early voyagers 
named the group " Galapago," which is the Span- 
ish name for tortoise. All over the islands are 
many extinct craters, some being mere elevations, 
while others are miles in circumference. 

Next to the craters, the visitor is attracted by the 
network of trails, paths, or lanes that lead over 
many of the islands. These are the tracks of the 
great turtles, of which there are five totally differ- 
ent species, living upon different islands. 

By following up the paths, these turtles are 
easily found — great domed fellows, perhaps twelve 
feet long from head to tail, with shells six feet long, 
and weighing six or seven hundred pounds. When 

fully taken out and brought to Philadelphia, where 
the restoration was made. The fore-flippers alone 
were nearly five feet long, while its expanse from 
the tip of one extended flipper to another was 
about seventeen feet. The accompanying illus- 
tration gives an ideal view of this giant. But 
how did this sea-turtle become buried in a bluff 
in the State of Kansas ? A natural supposition 
would be that Kansas is in the bed of a former 
ocean, and so it is. Ages ago, in what is called 
by geologists the Cretaceous Period, that part of 
the world was the bed of a great sea, in which the 
great turtle swam, together with other monsters 
of curious shape and appearance. Gradually the 
crust of the earth was raised, the water fell back, 

■88 S .] 


2 7 

or became inclosed, and left the inhabitants of 
the Cretaceous Sea high and dry, to be covered 
by the earth and preserved for us to study ages 

The shores of this ancient ocean are easily found 
and followed by geologists. Its extent has been 
traced on our Western plains 
by the bleaching and disin- 
tegrating remains that have 
been found, upon and be- 
neath the surface. Professor 
Cope, who has described 
many of the animals that 
lived and died in that great 
ocean, says : 

"Far out on the expanse 
of this ancient sea might 
have been seen a huge snake- 
like form, which rose above 
the surface and stood erect, 
with tapering throat and ar- 
row-shaped head, or swayed 
about, describing a huge 
circle above the water. Then, 
as it plunged into the depths, 
nought would be visible but 
the foam caused by the 
disappearing mass of life. 
Should several have ap- 
peared together, we can 
easily imagine tall, flexible 
forms rising to the height of 
the masts of a fishing-fleet, 
or, like snakes, twisting 
and knotting themselves to- 
gether. This extraordinary 

neck — for such it was — rose from a body of ele- 
phantine proportions, and a tail of the serpent- 
pattern balanced it behind. This creature was 
a great sea-reptile. Like the snake-bird of Flor- 
ida, it probably often swam many feet below the 

surface ; and it could raise its head to the distant 
air for a breath, and then, withdrawing it, could 
explore the depths forty feet below, without alter- 
ing the position of its body." 

In other localities, huge shells have been 
found strewn about ; in fact, during that ancient 


period all animal creatures seem to have at- 
tained gigantic proportions, and, like the great 
tortoise, to have been so large that their very 
unwieldy size may have caused their death and 
final extinction. 




(A Series of Brief Papers eotieerning the Great Miisiciatis.) 

By Agatha Tunis. 



Robert Alexander Schumann, great both 
as a composer and as a critic, was born at Zwickau, a 
little village of Lower Saxony, June 8, 1810. His 
father was a bookseller ; he had some talent as a 
writer, and encouraged his son's love of art. His 
genius showed itself early, and when only seven, 
his father allowed him to study music under the 
church organist, who was very much impressed by 
the child's power. In his eleventh year he was 
sent to the high school, where he remained till 
1828, when he went to Leipsic to study law. His 
heart was absorbed in his music, but his father 
was dead and his mother would not consent to 
his adopting music as a profession. He found the 
study of law very unattractive, and during his first 
half year at school devoted his time to reading 
poetry and studying music. He made the acquain- 
tance of a number of young men who, like him- 
self, were devoted to music ; they met in Schumann's 
rooms every evening, where they discussed and per- 
formed various compositions. In 1S29 Schumann 
went to Heidelberg to study law, but here, too, 
all his time and enthusiasm were for his much 
loved music. He frequently practiced seven hours 
a day. 

The time had now come for Schumann to grad- 
uate and determine his profession. Every emo- 
tion within him prompted him to adopt a musical 
career, but his mother was determined he should 
choose the law. She felt how few achieve success in 
so difficultand uncertain a profession as music, and 
she feared her son would be unable to support him- 
self. Schumann, on the other hand, feared nothing 
so much as to be untrue to his highest light, and 
that light pointed steadily toward music. Money 
was as nothing to him if only he could devote him- 
self to his art ; and he had faith in himself, he 
felt that he should be successful. He knew that 
it would require steady and persistent toil, but he 
believed that in the end he would make a musician 
of himself. Finally, he persuaded his mother to 
place the decision in the hands of Friedrich Wieck, 
a friend and a well-known musician, Schumann 
agreeing that if, after six years of work at the 
piano, he gave no sign of success, he would turn 
to the practice of law. Wieck, after warning 
Schumann of the incessant and almost discour- 
aging work which lay before him, advised him, if 
he were willing to brave all this, to become a 

musician. Schumann now made his home at 
Leipsic, where he attacked his work with 
great enthusiasm, practicing all day. In his 
anxiety to attain success, he invented a machine 
which was intended for the equal training of every 
ringer ; by this contrivance, his third finger re- 
mained up in a vertical position, while he played 
with the others ; but the tendons became so 
strained that he lamed the troublesome finger, and 
all thought of a career as a pianist had to be put 
aside. Poor Schumann ! after all his struggles and 
sacrifices, was this to be the end ? We can well imag- 
ine the gloom which oppressed him, as he felt that 
his brilliant hopes were crushed, and everything 
pointed to the law. But music claimed him : he 
could not escape, and now he began to compose. 
He had always been rather self-willed, and suffered 
from having no one to guide his musical education. 
Unfortunately he had almost neglected musical 
composition, but now he set about to repair his mis- 
take. He should have grown up in this part of his 
art, and he was never quite compensated for the 
loss of early training. 

In 1834, Schumann and some of his friends started 
a journal which was to be an aid to both music and 
musicians. Its aim was to educate the public 
taste in music by encouraging everything that was 
good, and condemning everything that was bad in 
art. Schumann edited it for ten years, and wrote 
many articles for it ; he confirmed the reputation 
of many artists whose works were already known, 
and brought many composers, among them Chopin 
and Berlioz, to the notice of the public. His gen- 
erous encouragement of young artists was especially 
beneficial, and no musician possessed of talent was 
too young or too obscure for his kindly notice. 

In 1836, Schumann fell in love with Clara 
Wieck — a beautiful woman and brilliant genius. 
Her father objected to her marrying Schumann on 
account of the uncertainty of his income. Schumann 
was as yet almost unknown to the people. His 
compositions were appreciated by a circle of art- 
ists, but he reached only to the few- who were culti- 
vated enough to understand him. He now made 
every effort to win a reputation. Clara Wieck's 
influence over him was already seen in his music, 
for he turned his attention to song- writing, and 
wrote 13S songs, all of which he tells us were 
inspired by her. In 1S40 they were married, and 
he settled down to a quiet, beautiful life, bro- 
ken only by his ill-health. His wife appreciated 

iss 5 .: 


2 9 

his genius and understood and sympathized with 
all his thoughts and aspirations. In 1S44 they 
made a concert tour through Russia, when the wife 
played her husband's compositions. They were 
received everywhere with admiration. On their 
return, they settled at Dresden, where he gave his 
attention to his symphonies ; but Schumann now 
grew very melancholy and eccentric ; he had all 
kinds of delusions ; but he recovered from the 
attack and went on composing. In 1850 he was 
appointed City Musical Director at Dusseldorf. 
He and his wife went on several concert tours, 
but he found plenty of time to compose. His 
creative powers had never before seemed so active ; 
he could not help composing. In 185 1 he had a 
return of ill-health. He became very gloomy, and 
in one of his despondent fits he threw himself into 
the Rhine, but was rescued and carried home. He 

was then removed to a private asylum, where he 
died in 1856. His life had a very pathetic ending; 
but had it not been for the intelligent care of his 
wife he would probably have fallen a victim to the 
disease much earlier. 

In comparing Schumann's work with that of 
other composers, we should never forget the great 
services he rendered to music in his writings ; some 
even consider him greater as a critic than as a 
composer. He was not appreciated during his 
life. His musical ideas were in direct contrast to 
those of the school then popular, led by Mendels- 
sohn. The latter's music is always clear and elegant 
in form, like a finely-cut cameo, while Schumann 
cared more for the feeling, or emotion, and gave 
little attention to the finish. He wished only to 
present something warm and striking, and took 
no pains to put it into any special shape. 

A SPRIGHTLY little lady riding in a city car, 

Alighted at a music store and purchased a guitar. 

And she promptly made arrangements to take lessons every day 

From a callous-fingered Spaniard who could beautifully play. 

" I 'm quite a favorite, it seems, among the cats," said she. 
" For every night a motley band come serenading me, 

But I 'm grieved to say their voices, although powerful and clear. 

Are decidedly discordant to the cultivated ear; 




'■ 1 open wide my window and I wildly make pretence 
To enjoy the little arias they warble on the fence, 
And, when the last notes die away, to merit their regard, 
I scatter little dainties that they like around the yard. 

'■ But, though I 'm sure the poor things try to do their very best, 
You can't imagine how much they disturb a body's rest, 
And I 'd certainly be justified in telling them to "scat," 
But I could n't hurt the feelings of a little pussy-cat ! 

" So I 'm going to take lessons with the earnest hope that I 
Can accompany their voices and instruct them by and by, 
For they seem to be ambitious, and material so good, 
If rightly trained, I 'm very sure, would charm the neighborhood ! 


By Susan Coolidge. 

Uncle and Aunt were a very dear and rather 
queer old couple, who lived in one of the small 
villages which dot the long indented coast of Long 
Island Sound. It was four miles to the railway, so 
the village had not waked up from its colonial sleep 
on the building of the line, — as had other villages 
nearer to its course, — but remained the same 
shady, quiet place, with never a steam-whistle nor 
a manufactory bell to break its repose. 

Sparlings-Neck was the name of the place. No 
hotel had ever been built there, so no summer 
visitors came to give it a fictitious air of life for a 
few weeks of the year. The century-old elms 
waved above the gambrel roofs of the white, 
green-blinded houses, and saw the same names on 
door-plates and knockers that had been there 
when the century began : "Benjamin," "Wilson," 
" Kirkland," "Benson." " Reinike," — there they 
all were, with here and there the prefix of a dis- 
tinguishing initial as, "J. L. Benson," " Eleaser 
Wilson," or " Paul Reinike." Paul Reinike, fourth 
of the name who had dwelt in that home, was 
the " Uncle" of this story. 

Uncle was tall and gaunt and gray, of the tra- 
ditional New England type. He had a shrewd, dry 
face, with wise little wrinkles about the corners of 
the eyes, and just a twinkle of fun and a quiet kind- 
liness in the lines of the mouth. People said the 
squire was a master-hand at a bargain. And so he 
was ; but if he got the uttermost penny out of all 
legitimate business transactions, he was always 
ready to give that penny, and many more, when- 
ever deserving want knocked at his door, or a 
good work to be done showed itself distinctly as 
needing help. 

Aunt, too, was a New Englander, but of a 
slightly different type. She was the squire's cousin 
before she became his wife ; and she had the family 
traits, but with a difference. She was spare, but 
she was also very small, and had a distinct air of 
authority which made her like a fairy godmother. 
She was very quiet and comfortable in her ways, 
but she was full of " faculty," that invaluable 
endowment which covers such a multitude of 
capacities. Nobody's bread or pies were equal 
to Aunt's. Her preserves never fermented ; her 
cranberry always jellied; her sponge-cake rose to 
heights unattained by her neighbors', and staid 
there, instead of ignominiously " flopping " when 
removed from the oven, like the sponge-cake of 
inferior housekeepers. Everything in the old 
home moved like clock-work. Meals were ready 
to a minute ; the mahogany furniture glittered 
like dark-red glass ; the tall clock in the entry 
was never a tick out of the way; and yet Aunt 
never appeared to be particularly busy. To one 
not conversant with her methods, she gave the 
impression of being generally at leisure, sitting 
in her rocking-chair in the "keeping-room," — hem- 
ming cap-strings, and reading Emerson, for Aunt 
liked to keep up with the thought of the day. 

Hesse declared that either she sat up and did 
things after the rest of the family had gone to bed, 
or else that she kept a Brownie to work for her ; 
but Hesse was a saucy child, and Aunt only smiled 
indulgently at these sarcasms. 

Hesse was the only young thing in the shabby 
old home ; for, though it held many handsome 
things, it was shabby. Even the cat was a sober 
matron. The old white mare had seen almost half 



as many years as her master. The very rats and 
mice looked gray and bearded when you caught a 
glimpse of them. But Hesse was youth incarnate, 
and as refreshing in the midst of the elderly still- 
ness which surrounded her as a frolicsome puff of 
wind, or a dancing ray of sunshine. She had 
come to live with Uncle and Aunt when she was 

York had taken place when Hesse was about fif- 
teen ; now she was to make another. And just as 
this story opens, she and Aunt were talking over 
her wardrobe for the occasion. 

" I shall give you this China-crape shawl," said 
Aunt decisively. 

Hesse looked admiringly but a little doubtfully 

mm ■ %mm 



1 i 


ten years old ; she was now nearly eighteen, and 
she loved the quaint house and its quainter 
occupants with her whole heart. 

Hesse's odd name, which had been her mother's, 
her grandmother's, and her great-grandmother's 
before her, was originally borrowed from that of 
the old German town whence the first Reinike had 
emigrated to America. She had not spent quite 
all of the time at Sparlings-Neck since her mother 
died. There had been two years at boarding- 
school, broken by long vacations, and once she had 
made a visit in New York, to her mother's cousin, 
Mrs. De Lancey, who considered herself a sort of 
joint guardian over Hesse, and was apt to send a 
frock or a hat, now and then as the fashions changed, 
that "the child might not look exactly like Noah, 
and Mrs. Noah, and the rest of the people in the 
ark," she told her daughter. This visit to New 

at the soft, clinging fabric, rich with masses of yel- 
low-white embroidery. 

'• I am afraid girls don't wear shawls now," she 
ventured to say. 

"My dear," said Aunt, "a handsome thing is 
always handsome ; never mind if it is not the last 
novelty, put it on, all the same. The Reinikes can 
wear what they like, 1 hope ! They certainly know 
better what is proper than these oil-and-shoddy 
people in New York that we read about in the news- 
papers. Now, here is my India shawl," — unpin- 
ning a towel, and shaking out a quantity of dried 
rose-leaves. — "I lend you this; not give it. you 

" Thank you. Aunt, dear." Hesse was secretly 
wondering what Cousin Julia and the girls would 
say to the India shawl. 

" Vmi must have a pelisse of some sort." con- 




tinued her aunt; "but perhaps your Cousin De 
Lancey can see to that. Though I might have 
Miss Lewis for a day, and cut over that handsome 
camlet of mine. It 's been lying there in camphor 
for fifteen years, of no use to anybody.'' 

" Oh, but that would be a pity ! " cried Hesse, 
with innocent wiliness. '-The girls are all wear- 
ing little short jackets now, trimmed with fur or 
something like that; it would be a pity to cut up 
that great cloak to make a little bit of a wrap for 

"Fur," said her aunt, catching at the word; 
"the very thing ! How will this do ?" dragging 
out of the camphor-chest an enormous cape, which 
seemed made of tortoise-shell cats, so yellow and 
brown and mottled was it. "' Wont this do for 
a trimming, or would you rather have it as it is ? " 

"I shall have to ask Cousin Julia," replied 
Hesse. "Oh, Aunt, dear, don't give me any- 
more ! You really must n't ! You are robbing 
yourself of everything! " For Aunt was pulling 
out yards of yellow lace, lengths of sash ribbon of 
faded colors and wonderful thickness, strange, old- 
fashioned trinkets. — 

"And here 's your grandmother's wedding- 
gown. — and mine!" she said; "you had better 
take them both. I have little occasion for dress 
here, and I like you to have them, Hesse. Say 
no more about it, my dear." 

There was never any gainsaying Aunt, so Hesse 
departed for New York with her trunk full of 
antiquated finery, sage-green and "pale-colored" 
silks that would almost stand alone ; Mechlin 
lace, the color of a spring buttercup ; hair rings 
set with pearls, and brooches such as no one- 
sees, nowadays, outside of a curiosity shop. Great 
was the amusement which the unpacking caused 
in Madison Avenue. 

" Yet the things are really handsome," said 
Mrs. De Lancey, surveying the fur cape critically. 
" This fur is queer and old-timey, but it will make 
quite an effective trimming. As for this crape 
shawl, I have an idea, — you shall have an over- 
dress made of it, Hesse. It will be lovely with a silk 
slip; you may laugh, Pauline, but you will wish 
you had one like it when you see Hesse in hers. 
It only needs a little taste in adapting, and for- 
tunately these quaint old things are just coming 
into fashion." 

Pauline, a pretty girl, — modern to her finger- 
tips — held up a square brooch, on which, under 
pink glass, shone a complication of initials in gold, 
the whole set in a narrow twisted rim of pearls and 
garnets, and asked : 

" How do you propose to 'adapt 'this, Mamma?" 

"Oh!" cried Hesse, "I would n't have that 
'adapted' for the world. It must stay just as it is. 

It belonged to my grandmother, and it has a 
love-story connected with it." 

"A love-story! oh, tell it to us," said Grace, 
the second of the De Lancey girls. 

" Why," explained Hesse ; " you see, my grand- 
mother was once engaged to a man named John 
Sherwood. He was a ' beautiful young man,' Aunt 
says ; but very soon after they were engaged, he fell 
ill with consumption, and had to go to Madeira. He 
gave Grandmamma that pin before he sailed. See, 
there are his initials, 'J. S.,' and hers, 'H. 
L. R.,' for Hesse Lee Reinike, you know. He 
gave her a copy of ' Thomas a Kempis ' besides, 
with ' The Lord do so to me, and more also, if 
aught but death part thee and me,' written on 
the title-page. I have the book, too ; Uncle gave 
it to me for my own." 

" And did he ever come back ? " asked Pauline. 

" No," answered Hesse. " He died in Madeira, 
and was buried there ; and quite a long time 
afterward, Grandmamma married my grandfather. 
I 'm so fond of that queer old brooch, I like to 
wear it sometimes." 

" How does it look ? " demanded Pauline. 

" You shall see for yourself, for I '11 wear it to- 
night," said Hesse. 

And when Hesse came down to dinner with the 
quaint ornament shining against her white neck on 
a bit of black velvet ribbon, even Pauline owned 
that the effect was not bad — queer, of course, and 
unlike other people's things, but certainly not bad. 

Mrs. De Lancey had a quick eye for character, and 
she noted with satisfaction that her young cousin was 
neither vexed at nor affected by her cousins' criti- 
cisms on her outfit. Hesse saw for herself that her 
things were unusual and not in the prevailing 
styde, but she knew them to be handsome of their 
kind, and she loved them as a part of her old 
home. There was, too, in her blood a little of 
the family pride which had made Aunt say, 
"The Reinikes know what is proper, I hope." 
So she wore her odd fur and made-over silks and 
the old laces with no sense of being ill-dressed, and 
that very fact "carried it off" and made her seem 
well dressed. Cousin Julia saw that her wardrobe 
was sufficiently modernized not to look absurd or 
attract too much attention, and there was some- 
thing in Hesse's face and figure which suited the 
character of her clothes. People took notice of 
this or that, now and again, — said it was pretty, 
and where could they get such a thing? — and, 
flattery of flatteries, some of the girls copied her 
effects ! 

" Estelle Morgan says, if you don't mind, she 
means to have a ball-dress exactly like that blue 
one of yours," Pauline told her one day. 

" Oh, howfunnv ! Aunt's wedding-gown made 



up with surahs ! " cried Hesse. " Do you remember 
how you laughed at the idea, Polly, and said it 
would be horrid ? " 

"Yes, and I did think so," said Polly; "but 
somehow it looks very nice on you. When it is 
hanging up in the closet, I don't care much for it.'' 

" Well, luckily, no one need look at it when it is 
hanging up in the closet," retorted Hesse, laugh- 

Her freshness, her sweet temper, and bright 
capacity for enjoyment had speedily made Hesse 

Mrs. De Lancey had written to beg for a little ex- 
tension. Gayeties thickened as Lent drew near, 
and there was one special fancy dress ball at Mrs. 
Shuttle-worth's, about which Hesse had heard a 
great deal, and which she had secretly regretted to 
lose. She was, therefore, greatly delighted at a 
letter from Aunt, giving her leave to stay a fort- 
night longer. 

" Uncle will come for you on Shrove-Tuesday," 
wrote her Aunt. " He has some business to 
attend to, so he will stay over till Thursday, and 




m2%$ "If 



a success among the young people of her cousins' 
set. Girls liked her, and ran after her as a 
social favorite ; and she had flowers and german 
favors and flatteries enough to spoil her, had she 
been spoilable. But she kept a steady head through 
all these distractions, and never forgot, however 
busy she might be, to send off the long journal- 
letter, which was the chief weekly event to Uncle 
and Aunt. 

Three months had been the time fixed for Hesse's 
stay in New York, but, without her knowledg;, 

Vol. XIII. — ;. 

you can take your pleasure till the last possible 

" How lovely ! " cried Hesse. " How good of 
you to write, Cousin Julia, and I am so pleased 
to go to Mrs. Shuttleworth's ball." 

" What will you wear?" asked Pauline. 

"Oh, I haven't thought of that, yet. I must 
invent something, for I don't wish to buy another 
dress, I have had so many things already." 

" Now, Hesse, you can't invent anything. It 's 
impossible to make a fancy dress out of the rag- 




bag," said Pauline whose ideas were all of an 
expensive kind. 

" We shall see," said Hesse. " I think I shall 
keep my costume as a surprise — except from you, 
Cousin Julia. I shall want you to help me, but 
none of the others shall know anything about it 
till I come down-stairs." 

This was a politic move on the part of Hesse. 
She was resolved to spend no money, for she knew 
that her winter had cost more than Uncle had 
expected, and more than it might be convenient 
for him to spare ; yet she wished to avert dis- 
cussion and remonstrance, and at the same time 
to prevent Mrs. De Lancey from giving her a 
new dress, which was very often that lady's easy 
way of helping Hesse out of her toilet difficulties. 
So a little seamstress was procured, and Cousin 
Julia taken into counsel. Hesse kept her door 
carefully locked for a day or two ; and when, 
on the evening of the party, she came down 
attired as " My great-grandmother," in a short- 
waisted, straight-skirted white satin ; with a big 
ante-revolutionary hat tied under her dimpled 
chin ; a fichu of mull, embroidered in colored 
silks, knotted across her breast ; long, white silk 
mittens, and a reticule of pearl beads hanging 
from her girdle, — even Pauline could find no fault. 
The costume was as becoming as it was queer ; 
and all the girls told Hesse that she had never 
looked so well in her life. 

Eight or ten particular friends of Pauline and 
Grace had arranged to meet at the De Lanceys', 
and all start together for the ball. The room 
was quite full of gay figures as " My great-grand- 
mother " came down ; it was one of those little 
moments of triumph which girls prize. The door- 
bell rang as she slowly turned before the throng, 
to exhibit the back of the wonderful gored and 
plaited skirt. There was a little colloquy in the 
hall, the butler opened the door, and in walked a 
figure which looked singularly out of place among 
the pretty, fantastic, girlish forms, — a tall, spare, 
elderly figure in a coat of old-fashioned cut. A 
carpet-bag was in his hand. He was no other than 
Uncle, come a day before he was expected. 

His entrance made a little pause. 

" What an extraordinary-looking person ["whis- 
pered Maud Ashurst to Pauline, who colored, hesi- 
tated, and did not, for a moment, know what to do. 
Hesse, standing with her back to the door, had seen 
nothing ; but, struck by the silence, she turned. 
A meaner nature than hers might have shared 
Pauline's momentary embarrassment, but there 
was not a mean fiber in the whole of Hesse's frank, 
generous being. 

" Uncle ! dear Uncle !" she cried; and, running 
forward, she threw her arms around the lean old 

neck, and gave him half a dozen of her warmest 

"It is my uncle," she explained to the others. 
" We did n't expect him till to-morrow ; and is n't 
it too delightful that he should come in time to see 
us all in our dresses ! " 

Then she drew him this way and that, introduc- 
ing him to all her particular friends, chattering, 
dimpling, laughing with such evident enjoyment, 
such an assured sense that it was the pleasantest 
thing possible to have her uncle there, that every 
one else began to share it. The other girls, who, 
with a little encouragement, a little reserve and 
annoyed embarrassment on the part of Hesse, 
would have voted Uncle "a countrified old quiz," 
and, while keeping up the outward forms of civility, 
would have despised him in their hearts, infected 
by Hesse's sweet happiness, began to talk to him 
with the wish to please, and presently to discover 
how pleasant his face was, and how shrewd and 
droll his ideas and comments ; and it ended by all 
pronouncing him an " old dear." So true it is that 
genuine and unaffected love and respect carry 
weight with them for all the rest of the world. 

Uncle was immensely amused by the costumes. 
He recalled the fancy balls of his youth, and gave 
the party some ideas on dress which had never 
occurred to any of them before. He could not at 
all understand the principle of selection on which 
the different girls had chosen their various char- 

"That gypsy queen looked as if she ought to 
be teaching a Sunday-school," he told Hesse after- 
ward. " Little Red Riding Hood was too big for 
her wolf. And as for that scampish little nun of 
yours, I don't believe the stoutest convent ever 
built could hold her in for half a day." 

"Come with us to Mrs. Shuttleworth's. It will 
be a pretty scene, and something for you to tell 
Cousin Marianne about when you go back," urged 
Mrs. De Lancey. 

" Oh, do, do ! " chimed in Hesse. " It will be 
twice as much fun if you are there. Uncle ! " 

But Uncle was tired by his journey, and would 
not consent ; and I am afraid that Pauline and 
Grace were a little relieved by his decision. False 
shame and the fear of "people" are powerful 

Three days later, Hesse's long, delightful visit 
ended, and she was speeding home under Uncle's 

" You must write and invite some of those fine 
young folk to come up to see you in June," he 
told her. 

" That will be delightful," said Hesse. But 
when she came to think about it later, she was not 
so sure about its being delightful. 

i88 5 .: 



There is nothing like a long absence from home 
to open one's eyes to the real aspect of familiar 
things. The Sparlings-Neck house looked \vo- 
fully plain and old-fashioned, even to Hesse, when 
contrasted with the elegance of Madison Avenue, — 
how much more so, she reflected, would it look to 
the girls ! 

She thought of Uncle's after-dinner pipe, — of 
the queer little chamber, opening from the dining- 
room, where he and Aunt chose to sleep, — of the 
green-painted woodwork of the spare bedrooms, 
and the blue paper-shades tied up with a cord, which 
Aunt clung to because they were in fashion when 
she was a girl ; and for a few foolish moments she 
felt that she would rather not have her friends 
come at all, than have them come to see all this, 
and perhaps make fun of it. Only for a few mo- 
ments ; then her more generous nature asserted 
itself with a bound. 

" How mean of me to even think of such a 
thing!" she told herself, indignantly; "to feel 
ashamed to have people know what my own home 
is like, and Uncle and Aunt who are so good to 
me. Hesse Reinike, I should like to hire some 
one to give you a good whipping ! The girls shall 
come, and I '11 make the old house look just as 
sweet as I can, and they shall like it, and have a 
beautiful time from the moment they come till 
they go away, if I can possibly give it to them." 

To punish herself for what she considered an 
unworthy feeling, she resolved not to ask Aunt to 
let her change the blue paper-shades for white 
curtains, but to have everything exactly as it usu- 
ally was. But Aunt had her own ideas and her 
pride of housekeeping to consider. As the time 
of the visit drew near, laundering and bleach- 
ing seemed to be constantly going on, and Jane, 
the old house-maid, was kept busy tacking dim- 
ity valances and fringed hangings on the sub- 
stantial four-post bedsteads, and arranging fresh 
muslin covers over the toilet-tables. Treasures 
unknown to Hesse were drawn out of their recep- 
tacles, — bits of old embroidery, tamboured table- 
cloths and " crazy quilts," vases and bow-pots of 
pretty old china for the bureaus and chimney- 
pieces. Hesse took a long drive to the w-oods, and 
brought back great masses of ferns, pink azalea, 
and wild laurel. All the neighbors' gardens were 
laid under contribution. When all was in order, 
with ginger-jars full of cool white daisies and 
golden buttercups standing on the shining mahog- 
any tables, bunches of blue lupines on the mantel, 
the looking-glasses wreathed with traveler's joy, 
and a great bowl full of early roses and quan- 
tities of lilies of the valley, the old house looked 
cosy enough and smelt sweet enough to satisfy the 
most fastidious taste. 

Hesse drove over with Uncle to the station to 
meet her guests. They took the big carry-all, 
which, with squeezing, would hold seven ; and a 
wagon followed for the luggage. There were five 
girls coming ; for, besides Pauline and Grace, Hesse 
had invited Georgie Berrian, Maud Ashurst, and 
Ella Waring, who were the three special favorites 
among her New York friends. 

The five flocked out of the train, looking so 
dainty and stylish that they made the old carry-all 
seem shabbier than ever by contrast. Maud Ash- 
urst cast one surprised look at it and at the old 
white mare ; she had never seen just such a car- 
riage before ; but the quality of the equipage was 
soon forgotten, as Uncle twitched the reins, and 
they started down the long lane-like road which 
led to Sparlings-Neck and was Hesse's particular 

The station and the dusty railroad were forgot- 
ten almost immediately, — lost in the sense of com- 
plete country freshness. On either hand rose 
tangled banks of laurel and barberries, sweet-ferns 
and budding grape-vines, overarched by tall trees, 
and sending out delicious odors ; while mingling 
with and blending all came, borne on a shoreward 
wind, the strong salt fragrance of the sea. 

"What is it? What can it be? I never smelt 
anything like it ! " cried the girls from the city. 

"Now, girls," cried Hesse, turning her bright 
face around from the driver's seat, "this is real, 
absolute country, you know, none of the make- 
believes which you get at Newport or up the 
Hudson. Everything we have is just as queer and 
old-fashioned as it can be. You wont be asked to 
a single party while you are here, and there is n't 
the ghost of a young man in the neighborhood — 
well, yes, there may be a ghost, but there is no 
young man. You must just make up your minds, 
all of you, to a dull time, and then you '11 find that 
it 's lovely." 

" It 's sure to be lovely wherever you are, you 
dear thing !" declared Ella Waring, with a little 
rapturous squeeze. 

I fancy that, just at first, the city girls did think 
the place very queer. None of them had ever 
seen just such an old house as the Reinikes' before. 
The white wainscots with their toothed moldings 
matched by the cornices above, the droll little cup- 
boards in the walls, the fire-boards pasted with gay 
pictures, the queer closets and clothes-presses oc- 
curring just where no one would naturally have 
looked for them, and having, each and all, an odd 
shut-up odor, as of by-gone days — all seemed very 
strange to them. But the flowers and the green 
elms and Hesse's warm welcome were delightful ; 
so were Aunt's waffles and wonderful tarts, the 
strawberries smothered in countrv cream, and the 



cove oysters and clams which came in, deliriously 
stewed, for tea ; and they soon pronounced the visit 
" a lark," and Sparlings-Neck a paradise. 

There were long drives in the woods, picnics in 
the pine groves, bathing-parties on the beach, 
morning sittings under the trees with an interesting 
book ; and when a north-easter came and brought 
with it what seemed a brief return of winter, there 
was a crackling fire, a candy-pull, and a charming 
evening spent in sitting on the floor telling ghost- 
stories, with the room only lighted by the fitfully 
blazing wood, and with cold creeps running down 
their backs ! Altogether, the fortnight was a com- 
plete success, and every one saw its end with 

" I wish we were going to stay all summer ! " said 
Georgie Berrian. " Newport will seem stiff and 
tiresome after this." 

" I never had so good a time ; never ! " declared 
Ellen. "And, Hesse, I do think your aunt and 
uncle are the dearest old people I ever saw ! " That 
pleased Hesse most of all. But what pleased her 
still more was when, after the guests were gone, 
and the house restored to its old order, and the 
regular home life begun again, Uncle put his arm 
around her, and gave her a kiss, — not a bed-time 
kiss, or one called for by any special occasion, but 
an extra kiss, all of his own accord. 

" A dear child," he said ; " not a bit ashamed 
of the old folks ; was she ? I liked that, Hesse." 

" Ashamed of you and Aunt? I should think 
not ! " answered Hesse, with a flush. 

Uncle gave a dry little chuckle. 

" Well, well," he said, "some girls would have 
been ; you were n't, — that 's all the difference. 
You 're a good child, Hesse." 

By Helen Gray Cone. 

What — what — what there, my pet Canary? 

What are you trying, my town-bred bird? 
You, whose performance used never to vary ! 

Ah, I can guess at the rogue you Ye heard ! 

Day after day, in your bright brass dwelling, 
You lived in comfort ; you took your dip ; 

Your cup ran over with seeds for shelling ; 
Your dear delight was a celery-tip. 

Primly and trimly you sleeked your feathers ; 

To swing in the ring you considered bliss : 
And you sang, sang, sang in all seasons and weathers, 

With a swelling throat, such a song as this: 

Sweet, sweet, sweet, 
Seeds — to — eat ! 

Swee-eet ? 
Just — hear — me — trill like 

Sweet, sweet, sweet ! " 

a rill, rill, rill, rill! 

But away at the farm-house last July, sir. 
Don't I know who, in the dawn and dew, 

Came, like a flame, to the branch near by, sir, 
Flashing, and dashing, and taunting you ? 

Who but the Oriole, orange and sable ? 

Brilliant Lord Baltimore, velvety-necked, 
Whistling out clear, through the morn's gay babel, 

Something to this provoking effect : 

i88 5 .] 



" You 're caged I see. 'T is n't fair, but / don't care ! 
[ 'm free, free, free ! Oho, it 's rare. — and / don't care! " 

" Free ? " — You listened, and learned his meaning ! 

Shadow and meadow and breezy tree, — 
Cherry and berry, — flitting and gleaning,— 

Mating and building, — 

" Oh, free, free, free ! " 

And now you repeat, though a trifle queerly, 

That nonchalant melody, o'er and o'er, 
And persuade yourself — or so very nearly! — 

You are quite as content as you were before : 

" 'T is n't fair, but / don't care ! 

/ don't care ! " 





By Frank R. Stockton. 

Fourth Paper. 


In the first part of our visit to Rome I remarked 
that the ancient city is now many feet below the 
level of the present streets. For centuries upon cent- 
uries, dust and rubbish of various kinds have grad- 
ually accumulated and formed a soil which has 
thus slowly piled itself upon old Rome, covering it 
all out of sight, excepting those portions of the 
ruins which were tall enough to keep above this 
rising tide of earth. In some parts of the city we 
may yet see the ruins of temples with the lower 
parts of the porticoes imbedded deeply in the 
soil, and wherever these old buildings have been 
excavated, the entrances and lower floors are far 
beneath the level of the streets, so that we have 
to go down to them by steps. Thus we must 
descend to reach the arena of the Colosseum, 
the whole lower part of this great building hav- 
ing been covered up in this way. This is the 
reason why we can still see, near the ground, the 
great iron bars which held the stones together. In 
the Middle Ages, when people used to come and 
take away this iron-work, all the bars which now 
remain were covered up, and thus protected, while 
of those in the exposed portions of the walls not one 
is left. This covering up of old Rome is a great 
disadvantage in some respects, for it has made 
necessary a vast deal of work and expense in ex- 
cavating the ruins, but, on the other hand, it has 
been of great advantage in saving and protecting 
until modern times, not only portions of build- 
ings, but great numbers of valuable statues, mo- 
saics, and other works of art. In fact, nearly all 
the ancient Roman sculptures which we see in 
the galleries were preserved in this way, and it 
is very fortunate for us that they were ; for, in 
the mediaeval times, every piece of ancient marble 
that could be found, no matter how beautifully 
it was sculptured, was either used for building 
or burned for lime. It is believed that some 
of the most valuable statues of antiquity were 
thus used to make mortar. Now, the work of ex- 
cavation is going on all the time ; the greatest 
care is taken of the ruins that are thus exposed to 
view; and every statue that is found, and even 
every broken-off hand or foot, is looked upon as a 
treasure. If I could believe that the people of the 

twenty-fifth century would improve as much on us 
as we have improved upon the people of the Mid- 
dle Ages, I should almost be sorry that I was born 
so soon. 

At some distance from the modern portion of the 
city, and near the river, is a rounded green hill, 
which is called Monte Testaccio. This hill is a very 
good example of how the surface of the ground 
can be gradually raised in the course of centu- 
ries. It is one hundred and sixty-four feet in height. 
It stands near the place where the ancient 
Roman wharves were situated, at which the ships 
bringing large jars and other pottery from Spain 
and Africa unloaded. Such jars as were broken 
were thrown or piled up here; and it is said that, 
at the end of the second century the mound was 
about eighty feet high. The fragments of these 
jars and of other pottery that was landed here 
have thus gradually formed a little mountain as 
high as the top of a tall church-steeple. It has been 
cut into in many places and found everywhere to 
consist of the same material, and so it may be said 
to be the largest object in the world that is formed 
of earthenware. It is long since any broken pottery 
has been added to the pile, and it is now covered 
over with soil, on which the grass grows green and 

There is a church in Rome, called San Clemente, 
which is, in some respects, an exceedingly curious 
edifice. Here we find four buildings one on top of 
another. The uppermost is the present church, 
built in the year 1 10S, and we shall see some inter- 
esting decorations of old-fashioned mosaic work on 
its walls and ceilings. But we shall not spend 
much time here, for there is another church below 
this, and under the surface of the ground, which 
we very much wish to see. This is a church of 
the early Christians which was first mentioned in 
the year 392. During one of the wars of the Mid- 
dle Ages, the upper part of this building was en- 
tirely destroyed and the rest much damaged ; and 
about twenty-four years afterward, the present 
church was built over it, and partly on its walls. 
A stair-way now leads down into this old church, 
and we can wander about the nave and aisles in 
which the early Christians used to worship. On 
the walls are a number of fresco paintings, repre- 
senting Bible-scenes, and instances in the life of St. 
Clement, for whom the church was named. There 
are also other subjects, and some of these paintings 

i88 5 .| 



are still in a very good condition, so that it is quite 
easy to see what they represent. In order that 
there shall be no mistake, the names of some of the 
persons are painted beneath them. Of course all 
the windows are blocked up now, and the man who 
takes us down carries a light ; but on certain days 
this ancient church is illuminated with many can- 
dles, and then it is crowded with visitors. Below 
this church are the remains of Roman buildings of 
the time of the emperors, on the foundations of 
which the old Christian edifice was built. Three 
rooms have been excavated here, and a stair-way 
leads down to them, but they are very wet and un- 
pleasant. Still below these are great walls belong- 
ing to a building of the time of the Roman repub- 
lic. This edifice was of massive stone, and on 
its walls were erected the later Roman buildings, 
which are of brick. When that lower edifice, now 
like the ground-floor of a three-story cellar, was in 
use, it was, of course, on the surface of the ground. 

There are, no doubt, many persons now living 
in Rome who have beneath them the residence of 
some gentleman of the Middle Ages, under which, 
perhaps, is the home of a Roman family of the time 
of the Caesars; and this may have been built upon 
the foundations of another Roman house, which 
was considered a good place to live in some five or 
six hundred years before. It must be a very satis- 
factory thing, when one is going to build a house, 
to find beneath the ground some good substantial 
walls which will make excellent foundations. It 
very often happens that these remains of ancient 
buildings are built of larger stones, and are firmer 
and more solid than the houses which are erected 
upon them. There is another side, however, to this 
matter, and the remains of old buildings are fre- 
quently very much in the way of those who wish 
to erect new houses, for it does not always occur that 
the ancient walls are in the right places, or of a 
suitable kind, to serve as foundations for the modern 
building. Then they have to be dug up and taken 
out, which is a great labor. There is a handsome 
American church in Rome; for as great numbers 
of our country people visit that city every winter, 
and a good many live there, it is considered desir- 
able for us to have a church of our own. This 
was built in a place which used to be one of the 
most populous parts of ancient Rome, and the 
work was made very expensive by the difficulty of 
getting rid of portions of walls, arches, rooms, and 
vaults which these Romans had left behind them, 
never thinking that in the course of ages there 
might be such people as Americans who would wish 
to build a church here. 

I may remark here that wherever we go in 
Europe, we shall find ourselves called Americans, 
although this term would apply just as well to 

Canadians, Mexicans, or the inhabitants of Nicar- 
agua. The fact is, that the name of our country 
can not very well be applied to its citizens. To 
speak of us properly, we should be called United- 
States-of-Americans, but this is too long a title, 
and in Europe the term Americans is generally 
applied to the people of the United States, and to 
no others. It is not well to have too much name. 
I used to own a dog whose whole name was Fax 
Mentis Incendium Gloria, but I always called 
him " Fax." 

I have said that Rome offers wonderful attrac- 
tions and advantages to artists, but we shall 
find that it offers just as much to those who 
love art, but are not artists. The city is crowded, 
so to speak, with collections of painting and stat- 
uary, among which are to be found some of the 
greatest works of the kind in the world. When 
we begin to visit the principal galleries, some 
of which are in private palaces, and some in 
public buildings, we shall think that they exist 
everywhere in the city. You have probably read 
in Mrs. Clement's valuable series of papers on 
art, in this magazine, descriptions of the most 
important works of art to be found in Rome. 
These we shall go to see, and take a great deal more 
pleasure in looking at them because we already 
know something about them. Our first art expe- 
dition will be made to the Vatican, because that is 
so grand and interesting a building in itself; 
and because it contains the most important art 
treasures in Rome. Among these are the famous 
Sistine Chapel, which owes its reputation to the 
wonderful frescoes by Michael Angelo ; the Stanze, 
or rooms, of Raphael, which contain a great many 
frescoes by this great master ; Raphael's Loggia, 
a long gallery with a glass front, the ceiling of 
which is adorned with frescoes, which are some- 
times called Raphael's Bible, as they consist of 
scenes from the Old and New Testaments. Then, 
there is the gallery of pictures, most of them by 
great masters; and the department of sculpture, 
consisting of many halls and galleries filled with 
an almost endless collection of statues, sarcophagi, 
bas-reliefs, and other works of the greatest ancient 

To visit these collections, which alone are worth 
a trip to Europe, we must have printed permits, 
which are very easily obtained. 

To reach the Sistine Chapel, the Picture Galler- 
ies, and Raphael's Rooms, we must present ourselves 
at the bronze gates, the principal entrance to the 
Vatican, situated to the right of the great square 
in front of St. Peter's. The Vatican, with its gal- 
leries and grounds, together with St. Peter's and 
some other buildings, belongs exclusively to the 
Pope, who exercises here a sovereignty entirely 





%*. 2„,v„a 

T> <. &»|iii,^i-') ! V 


distinct and separate from that of the King of 
Italy, who now includes the rest of Rome in his 
dominions. The Pope has his own soldiers, who 
are not very many, and who generally act as guards 
to the various parts of the Vatican. Behind the 
bronze doors, which are enormous barred gates, 
we shall see some of these soldiers, one of whom 
will ask us for our pcrmossos, or permits. I am 
sure you never beheld military gentlemen like 
them before. They are called the Swiss Guard, 
and are dressed in a uniform of flowing tunic and 
breeches, formed of broad perpendicular stripes of 
black, red, and yellow, long stockings striped in 
black and yellow ; and on state occasions they 
wear brass helmets with heavy white plumes, and 
carry halberds, or pikes with ax-heads at the 
ends. The officers' dress, of the same design, is 
of bright silk, and they make a dazzling appear- 
ance. These men appear as if they belonged to 
the Middle Ages and had nothing to do with our 
modern times ; and they very properly seem so, 
for their uniform was designed by Michael Angelo, 
not long after the discovery of America, and their 
costume has never been changed. It used to be 
the custom of many of the potentates of Europe 

to have personal guards composed of Swiss soldiers, 
as they were considered more honest and trustwor- 
thy than any others. In Walter Scott's "Quentin 
Durward " you will learn a great deal about the 
Swiss guards of France. In Paris the porter at 
the doors of great houses is still often called " The 
Swiss," although he is almost always a Frenchman. 
And these guards of the Pope are now Italians, 
but they still retain the old name. 

Rome is full of the greatest things in the world, 
and I believe that the marble staircase of the Vatican 
which now extends itself before us, straight on and 
up in a gentleslopetosuch a distance that the people 
at the top seemed dwarfed, as if they were at the 
end of some long avenue of trees, if not the great- 
est straight flight of steps in the world, is certainly 
one of them. It is called the Scala Regia, or 
Royal Stair-way ; and up it we go. The steps are 
not very high, but very broad, which is the case 
in most of the Roman palaces, and this makes the 
ascent easier; but when we come to the top we 
shall find that the business of going upstairs is by 
no means at an end. When we have found stair- 
way after stair-way, and have gone up and up and 
up to the various places we have come to see, we 

J88 5 .] 



shall understand what it is to be in a building ten 
stories high. 

As I have said before, the entrance to the sculpt- 
ure galleries is reached by going around St. 
Peter's Church. There are many of these galleries 
filled with the great works of Greece and Rome, 
and here we shall find the originals of many world- 
famous statues with which we are all familiar from 
engravings and casts, such as the Apollo Belvidere, 
the Laocoon, and the beautiful Mercury, formerly 
known as Antinous. The magnificent marble 
halls, the mosaic pavements, and the grand collec- 
tion of sculpture to be seen here will be a delight 
and surprise to us, no matter how much we may 
have read or heard about them before. 

In this part of the building there is also the vast 
library of the Vatican, in which there are a great 
many interesting things to be seen besides books, 
such as superb and costly presents made tu differ- 
ent popes by European sovereigns. 

Although we are in the Pope's house, we shall 
not see him, for the public is not allowed to enter 
his private apartments and beautiful grounds. 

government. In this collection is the famous dying. 
Gladiator, or, as it should be called, the Dying 
Gaul; and the Faun of Praxiteles, a beautiful statue 
of a youth, which is well known to all of us who have 
read Hawthorne's story of " The Marble Faun." In 
this Capitoline Museum and in a building opposite, 
called the Conservator!, there are a great many 
antique statues and sculptures, and among them, 
in the last-named building, is one which I am sure 
my young companions will find very interesting. 
It is the tombstone of a boy named O. Sulpicius 
Maximus, who died at the age of eleven and a 
half, in consequence of having worked too hard at 
school. I do not believe that many of the St. 
Nicholas young people are likely to die from 
this cause, but if any of them should feel inclined 
to study too hard and play too little, they might 
get some useful hints from this tombstone. Young 
O. Sulpicius was engaged in a competition with 
fifty-two other scholars in writing Greek verses, 
and succeeded in excelling them all. It would, 
however, have been better for him personally if he 
had not done so well, for his efforts killed him, and 


Another great collection of sculpture we shall all he gained was fame. This has been very last- 
find at the Capitoline Museum, a building on the ing, for his achievements are related upon this 
Capitol Hill, once the seat of the ancient Roman tombstone, and all of us who are learned enough 




may read quotations from his Greek verses, which 
are inscribed upon the marble, and gaze upon the 
statuette of the boy himself, no doubt a very good 

In the central square of the Capitol, which is 
surrounded on three sides by buildings, stands a 
very large bronze statue of Marcus Aurelius, once 
Emperor of Rome, mounted on a spirited horse. 
This is the. only equestrian statue which has been 
preserved in a perfect condition out of the many 
that decorated ancient Rome. Michael Angelo,who 
designed the buildings which at present stand on 
this hill, was very fond of this statue, and especially 
admired the horse. One day, while he was study- 
ing it, he forgot that it was not alive, and wishing to 
see it in another position, he cried out, " Cam ! " 
which means, go on. After looking at this horse 
for some time, one might easily imagine that a 
shout or a touch of a whip would make it jump. 

A long inclined plane, covered with an asphalt 
pavement, leads down to the street below ; and 
near the top of this incline is a large iron cage, in 
which some live wolves are always kept. This is in 
memory of the ancient wolf who was good enough 
to take care of Romulus and Remus when there 
was nobody else to do it. This wolf is still consid- 
ered as a Roman emblem ; pictures and carvings 
of it are seen on many buildings and public places, 
and it is even stamped on pats of butter. It is a 
great pity, from an artistic point of view, that 
some more graceful creature did not adopt the lit- 
tle babies who afterward founded the city. Not 
far from here, on the Palatine Hill, is still shown 
a cave which is said to be the identical den in 
which the old wolf established her little orphan 
asylum. In the course of our rambles we shall 
pass this, and those who choose may go in. 

In nearly all the palaces and villas of the nobles 
in and about Rome, there are collections of paint- 
ings and sculptures, some of them very large and 
filling many halls and rooms. We shall try to 
visit as many of these as we can, for nearly every 
one of them contains some famous pieces of an- 
tique sculpture or some of the great paintings of 
the masters of the Middle Ages. In one of these, 
the Spada palace, there stands, in an outer hall, a 
tall statue of the Roman general Pompey, which is 
believed to be the very statue at the feet of which 
Julius Caesar was assassinated by Brutus and the 
other conspirators. In the Rospigliosi gallery is 
Guido's famous Aurora, which is a fresco covering 
nearly all the ceiling of a large room. We all are 
familiar with engravings and copies of this picture, 
but we shall find it rather difficult to look as long as 
we wish at the original without making our necks 
ache by bending our heads backward as we gaze 
at the ceiling. To obviate this obstacle to the 

enjoyment of the picture, a looking-glass is fixed 
upon a table in such a way that visitors can look 
down into it and see the perfect reflection of the 
beautiful fresco above their heads. Many of the 
churches, too, contain famous works, and among 
these we shall certainly not omit San Pietro in Vin- 
coli, where sits Michael Angelo's majestic and awful 
statue of Moses. No end of statues; no end of 
paintings ; no end of grand palaces full of the 
works of ancient and modern artists, shall we see 
while we are in Rome. The great difficulty will 
be not to allow our desire to enjoy beautiful things 
to tire us out. Visitors often overtax their strength ; 
but we shall be prudent and not work too hard in 
the pursuit of pleasure. 

The burying-places of Rome are among its most 
curious sights. We have seen one of these, the 
tomb of Hadrian, which was an enormous edifice 
built for the last resting-place of one man and a 
few of his family ; and now we shall visit a small 
building which contained the remains of quite a 
congregation of people. This is situated near one 
of the city gates, in a place now occupied by vine- 
yards, and is called a columbarium. It is a small 
square house of stone, the greater part under- 
ground, and contains but one room, into which we 
descend by a very steep and very narrow flight of 
stairs. The ancient Romans very often burned the 
bodies of deceased persons, and in this place they 
kept the little urns, or caskets, which contained 
the ashes. All around the four walls of the room, 
and in a large square pillar of masonry in the cen- 
ter, are little recesses, like pigeon-holes, and this 
resemblance is the reason for the name, columbar- 
ium, meaning pigeon-house. These holes are 
each about a foot square, and deep enough to hold 
from two to four of the earthen pots or stone boxes 
in which the ashes were kept ; and this building 
contained six hundred of these urns. Each pigeon- 
hole was owned by a family, whose name we can 
see inscribed on a marble tablet over the opening. 
Sometimes it is stated who is buried inside ; and 
on some of them various particulars are given, such 
as when and how the little vaults were bought. 
It is very curious and interesting to walk about 
this room and read the names and ages of persons 
who were thus conveniently buried some eighteen 
centuries ago. Many of the jars and boxes still 
remain, and some of them contain fragments and 
cinders. There are other columbaria in Rome, 
but this is the best, and the only one we need visit. 

Just outside the Porta Maggiore, one of the 
principal gates of the city, is a very odd specimen 
of a burial-place which we all shall wish to see. 
It is the tomb of a baker, built by himself in the 
days of the Roman republic, some time before the 
beginning of the Christian era. It is a stone edi- 



fice, as large as a little house, and constructed in 
the form of a baker's oven. This ancient maker 
of bread, whose name was Marcus Vergilius Eury- 
saces, was probably a very good baker, and he 
did not wish this fact forgotten after his death. 
All around his tomb arc small sculptured figures 
representing bakers attending to different parts of 
their business, some grinding grain, others knead- 
ing, and making up loaves of bread, and others 
baking it. There is also on it an inscription in 
Latin, stating that this is the monument of the 
said Eurysaces, and that he was not only a purveyor 
of bread, but a city official. In order that no one 
should miss seeing this inscription, it is repeated 
on several sides of the monument. The desire for 
fame on the part of the builder of this oven-tomb 
has surely been gratified, for his monument has 
stood about two thousand years, and I have no 
doubt that the good baker is still inside of it. 

The Roman catacombs are very famous, and we 
all know that they are a vast collection of subter- 
ranean passages and apartments running in many 
directions under-ground, some far under the others, 
and forming labyrinths in which any one would 
certainly be lost who should venture into them 
without a guide. These are situated in the vast 
plain, which surrounds Rome, and is called the 
Campagna ; and some of these catacombs are said 
to extend so far that parts of them are under the 
city. They were the burial-places of the early 
Christians, and in them they also used to hold 
religious services, when they were so persecuted 
that they could not worship openly. We shall visit 
the catacombs of Callistus, which is the largest 
one ; and to reach it we go out over the famous 
Appian Way, a great military road built by the 
Romans, where for part of the distance our car- 
riage wheels roll over the very stones on which the 
Roman chariots used to be driven ; and as these 
chariots had no springs, their occupants must 
have been greatly jolted, although the road is even 
now as good as many modern paved streets. 
There is a line of heavy curbstones on each side, 
and the narrowness of the road and the marks of 
the ancient wheels upon the stones show how much 
wider are our modern vehicles than were the char- 
iots of old. A drive out on this Appian Way must 
have been a melancholy pleasure to the ancient 
Romans, for it was lined on each side by miles of 
tombs, many of them very handsome edifices like 
small castles, and temples, with pillars and statu- 
ary. Remains of these tombs are still seen on each 
side of the road, and portions of some of them are 
in good preservation ; and on marble slabs, and 
over little porticoes, we can read the names of 
many persons who were buried here. We can go 
out for miles on this road, which was made three 

hundred years before Christ, and we shall find the 
Campagna very interesting, with its vast expanse 
of green pastures, on which we see herds of the 
fine Roman oxen, with their enormous horns, 
sometimes nearly a yard long; herdsmen wander- 
ing about with their flocks of sheep and goats at 
their heels ; gentle hills covered with wild flowers; 
and over all, stretching far away, long lines of 
stone arches, the remains of ancient Roman aque- 
ducts, some of which are in so good condition that 
they are still used to bring water to the city. 

But the catacombs we are to visit are but little 
more than a mile from the city walls, and we soon 
reach them. At a small building we find guides, 
who give each one of us a lighted taper. Then 
we form in line, and go down a long flight of stone 
steps to the doleful depths of this under-ground 
labyrinth. We find ourselves at first in a long 
passage a little higher than our heads and so 
narrow that we can touch each side of it by stretch- 
ing out our arms. It is simply dug out of the 
soft rock and earth, and in each of its walls are 
cavities, one above the other, in which once rested 
the bodies of the early Christians. Some of these 
were in marble boxes, or sarcophagi, and others 
more rudely buried. But very few of them are 
here now. Many of the sculptured marbles have 
been taken to the Roman Museums, and thousands 
of the bones of the early Christians have been car- 
ried away as relics, and buried in churches all 
over Europe. In a line, each holding his pale 
light, we follow our guides through the long pas- 
sages of this dreary place. Occasionally, as I have 
said, are little chambers and chapels, but the 
catacombs consist for the most part of these nar- 
row earth corridors, absolutely pitch-dark, and 
turning and winding in every imaginable way. 
It is necessary that those at the end of our line 
should not lag behind, for if they were to lose 
sight of the main body they would never, of them- 
selves, be able to find it again. One passage looks 
just like another, and there are so many of them 
to the right and the left, that it would be im- 
possible for an inexperienced person to know when 
he should go ahead and when he should turn. 
But we all keep together, and after a long under- 
ground walk, we at last come out into the day- 
light, in a spot at some distance from that where 
we went in. We have gone through but a small 
part of these great catacombs : but it has been 
quite enough. 

There are other kinds of burial-places in Rome, 
but we shall visit no more of them, though 
they give us ideas in regard to the manners and 
customs of by-gone people which we could get in 
no other way. 

In the busv and lively streets of modern Rome 




we find enough to fill up all the time we can spare 
from the galleries and the antiquities. There 
are hundreds of shops, and the windows are full 
of many things which are peculiar to Rome, 
such as beautiful gold- work of intricate and delicate 
patterns ; many-colored Roman silken scarfs and 
blankets ; great ox-horns beautifully polished and 
mounted with silver ; coral, made into every 

Many of the streets are very narrow, and have 
no sidewalks, and when we are walking in these, 
we have to look out for ourselves, for there is 
no one else who will do it. Carriages and wagons 
come rattling along expecting everyone to get out 
of their way, and sometimes we must slip into 
door-ways, or squeeze ourselves flat up against walls 
in order not to be run over. Paving stones and 


-V^- W " '' "<«t»l. ' 


imaginable ornament ; mosaics, and cameos ; brill- 
iant water-color drawings of the Roman school ; 
and no end of small bronzes and sculptures and 
other works of art. Among the things exhibited 
are the soft-colored Roman pearls; and, looking 
through some of the shop windows, we can see 
women at work making these pearls, for they are 
manufactured by human beings, and not by oysters. 
Each pearl is made on the end of a piece of wire 
like a knitting-needle. Hundreds of these needles, 
with pearls on the ends, some little things, and 
some the size they are going to be, may be seen 
sticking in cushions, while women and girls are at 
work dipping other wires into the soft composition 
out of which the pearls are made, molding and 
forming them into the proper shape. Everywhere, 
too, may be seen men, boys, and women with bas- 
kets of tortoise-shell ornaments, of fruits, and flow- 
ers, and nearly every imaginable thing to sell ; and 
foreign visitors have sometimes a great deal of 
trouble to escape from these energetic street 

people all appear the same to a Roman driver ; if 
they don't get out of the way he will go over them. 
Sometimes when I have been in one of the lit- 
tle open Roman carriages, it has almost taken 
my breath away to see the driver dash into the 
midst of a crowd of people ; I certainly expected 
that somebody would be knocked down, but I 
never saw any one injured, or even touched. 
Practice makes excellent dodgers of Roman foot- 
travelers. The fact that it is against the law to 
get in the way of a vehicle helps to make them 
careful. In many parts of Europe, persons who 
are knocked down or run over by vehicles are 
fined or imprisoned. 

The royal palace is in Rome, and the King, 
Princes, and many of the other nobles live in 
or near the city ; and we may often see their hand- 
some equipages in the streets and in the parks. 
Every fine day the little Prince of whom you have 
read in one of the numbers of St. NICHOLAS, may 
be seen in a carriage with his tutor. The little 
fellow might almost as well ride bare-headed, 



so frequently does he take off his hat to the people. 
Very often we shall meet his mother, the beautiful 
Queen Margharita, who is a gracious and pleasant 
lady, and bows to the people as if she knew them 
all. King Humbert, too, is constantly to be met on 
fine afternoons. He is very fond of doing his own 
driving, and as he has over two hundred horses in 
his stables, he can always have a pair to suit him. 
It is harder for a king to drive than for any other 
person to do so. He must hold the reins and 
guide the horses, he must also hold the whip, and 
he must always have a hand free with which to 
take off his hat, which he does on an average three 
times a minute. If ever I ride behind a fractious 
pair of horses, I don't wish a king to drive them. 

The modern Romans, even the common people, 
have a proud and dignified air. They seem to 
have preserved something of the spirit of their 
ancestors. The men are very fond of long cloaks, 
a corner of which they throw over the left shoulder 
as the old Romans did their togas. It is quite amus- 
ingto seealetter-carrierdeliveringthemail, with his 
cloak thrown around him in this martial way. As 
for people who are truly martial, there are plenty 
of them to be seen in Rome. Soldiers are every- 
where ; handsomely dressed officers among the 
people on the sidewalks ; private soldiers singly, or 
two or three together, hurrying hither and thither 
on all sorts of errands ; and very 
often, a regiment, with a band, 
marching along at a quick rate, as if 
something were about to happen, 
every man with his rifle and his 
knapsack, and a whole cock's tail of 
feathers in his hat. 

As I have said before, the Italian 
government is busily carrying on 
the work of excavating the ruins of 
ancient Rome, and among the most 
interesting of these are the remains --""-- _ -— ^^S 
of the old Roman Forum, where the 
most important of the public build- '" - 
ings and temples stood, and where 
assemblies of the people were held. 
We shall wander for hours about 
this great open space, which is not far from the 
Colosseum ; we shall see the triumphal arch of 
Septimius Severus ; the remains of temples with 
some of their beautiful sculptured pillars still stand- 
ing, tall and strong ; the narrow streets, with their 
pavements of wide flag-stones, in which are the 
deep ruts worn by the old Roman wheels. These 
stones are marked in some places with circles, on 
which are indicated the points of the compass. On 
one side of the Forum is the lower part of the 
Basilica Julia, a great public building erected by 
Julius Ca;sar, with its long lines of steps, the mar- 


ble floors of its corridors, and some of its mosaic 
pavement still remaining. In these corridors we 
shall see, scratched on the marble slabs of the 
floor, squares and circles on which the Roman boys 
and men used to play games while idling outside 
the halls of justice. Near one of the temples is a 
broad platform from which orators addressed the 
people. Here Marc Antony stood when he pro- 
nounced the oration over the body of the murdered 
Caesar ; and if we examine the place, we shall find 
that, near the edge of the low platform of stone, 
some of the great slabs are much worn. This was 
the best position for the speakers, and it must have 
required the sandals of generations of orators to so 
rub down and wear away the stones. It is prob- 
able that it was on this very spot Marc Antony 
stood, and if any of the boys think that to take his 
place would inspire them with eloquence, they 
have but to stand there and try. Near by is the 
triumphal arch of Titus, which he erected when he 
returned victorious from Jerusalem; and among the 
other sculptures on it we can still see, very clear 
and plain, the great seven-branched golden candle- 
stick which he carried away from Solomon's 

A few steps from this brings us to the entrance 
of the palaces of the Caesars. These are the re- 
mains of the palaces built by the Roman emperors, 


and they cover a large extent of ground. Of some 
of them, all the upper parts are gone, nothing re- 
maining but portions of walls and marble floors 
and fragments of sculptured columns; while of 
others there are still many archways, corridors, 
and apartments. On the grounds is a small house 
with some of the rooms nearly perfect, in which 
are to be seen the paintings on the walls and the 
leaden pipes by which the water was brought in. 
Everywhere there are remains of beautiful marbles 
and sculptures. At one end of the grounds is a 
ptTiiagogiitm, or school-house. Here are several 




rooms, on the walls of which can be seen carica- 
tures and inscriptions made by the Roman boys. 
They are scratched with a steel stylus, which 
they used for writing. Some of the pictures are 
quite good ; and a number of the names of the 
scholars are to be seen. 

We shall wander a long time over these palatial 
grounds, and in one place we shall see a small 
stone altar with an inscription on it stating that it 
was erected to the Unknown God. 

All about this part of Rome are ruins of other 
immense and costly buildings erected by the Roman 
emperors. A moderate walk will bring us to the 
remains of the lower part of the celebrated Golden 
House of Nero, where we may wander through 
many great vaulted corridors and rooms. The 
Emperor Nero, as we all know, was as wicked a 
man as ever lived, and did all the injury to his fel- 
low-beings that it was possible for him to do ; but 
I used to think, and I suppose everybody agreed 
with me, that the time had long since passed when 
he could cause injury to any one. Yet, when I was 
visiting these ruins, which in places are very damp 
and wet, I caught quite a bad cold, and, for about 
a week, I was very severe on Nero. Who could 
imagine that anything he had done would have 
injured a peaceful American of the nineteenth 
century ! But the influence of the wicked is far- 

Over the ruins of this Golden House, which 
must have been a magnificent palace, the Emperor 
Titus erected baths, of which we may still see por- 
tions; but these are nothing to the grand remains 
of the Baths of Caracalla, where we shall spend an 
hour or two. This was an immense and magnifi- 
cent building, capable of accommodating 1600 
bathers. A great part of its tall walls are still 
standing, and here we can walk through the im- 
mense rooms, some still retaining portions of their 
beautiful mosaic pavements, and we may even go 
down into the cellars, where are still to be seen the 
furnaces by which the water was heated. There 
was probably never in the world so grand and 
luxurious a bath-house as this. It had great halls 
for promenading and recreation, and a race-course ; 
and in it were found some of the most valuable 
statues of antiquity. 

Many of us will be surprised to find the greater 
part of the Roman ruins of brick. This brick-work 
is of so good a quality that it has lasted almost as 
well as stone. The marble outside of most of these 
walls has long since been carried away. Some of 
the more important buildings, however, are of 

stone ; and there are some beautiful marble pillars 
and porticoes still standing. 

We all have heard the statement that Rome was 
not built in a day, and we shall find out for our- 
selves that it takes a great many days to see it, 
even if we only glance at things which we should 
like to examine and enjoy for hours. But we shall 
try to use profitably all the time we have to spend 
here, in this old city, great in ancient times, great 
in the Dark and Middle Ages, and great now. 
We shall visit very many churches, each different 
from the others, and each containing some inter- 
esting painting, or possessing some architectural 
beauties which make it famous. Among these 
are the Pantheon, a circular church, formerly a 
pagan temple, still perfect, and lighted by the 
same great round opening in the roof, through 
which the rain came in the days of Julius Caesar 
just as it does now. Here Raphael, Victor Eman- 
uel, and other celebrated men are buried. We 
must also see the church of St. John Lateran, with 
an extensive building attached which for a thou- 
sand years was the palace of the popes, but is now 
an interesting museum ; and Santa Maria Mag- 
giore, with its beautiful chapels ; and the Borghese 
villa, and its beautiful gardens, filled with works of 
art ; and we must not fail to visit the magnificent 
new church of St. Paul's, outside the walls, the finest 
religious edifice of recent times, the vast marble 
floor of which, as smooth and bright as a lake of 
glistening ice, is worth coming to see, even if there 
were no mosaics, and no cloisters with splendid 
marbles and columns, and pillars and altars of 
alabaster and malachite sent from sovereigns of 
Europe and Africa. 

And very different from all this is what we see in 
another quarter of Rome, where the narrow streets 
are crowded with men, women, and children, each 
one with something to sell ; while the fronts of the 
houses are nearly covered with old clothes hung 
against them, and where there are dingy little 
shops crowded with bric-a-brac and all sorts of 
odd things, some of which we shall like to take 
home with us, — but must be careful how we 

There is more, more, more, to be seen in Rome 
and in the beautiful villages near by, but we can 
stay no longer now ; so we all shall go to the 
Fountain of Trevi, each of us take a drink of 
water, and each of us throw a small coin into the 
pool, for there is a legend which says that people 
who do this when they are leaving Rome will be 
sure to come to this wonderful city again. 




By L. H. Stephens. 

When I was in Melbourne, Australia, a few years 
ago, I made myself a Christmas present of a baby- 
cockatoo. It was one of four which a Chinaman 
was offering for sale. They were about the oddest 
little figures I had ever seen ; and as they sat 
perched upon the cross-piece of the upright 
stick on which the Chinaman was carrying them 
through the streets, I could not resist the tempta- 
tion to purchase one, never thinking how I was to 
get it safely home with me to America. 

The young ''Joeys," as the birds are called 
in Australia, had evidently been stolen from the 
home nest that very morning. They looked very 

much like balls of cotton about three or four 
inches in diameter; but projecting from each ball 
was a beak altogether out of proportion to the 
seeming puff-ball, while two big, staring eyes shone 
in each tiny head. And there they perched, and 
squeaked and blinked, and blinked and squeaked, 
with almost clock-like regularity. 

Now, it is by no means difficult to obtain an old 
cockatoo, but so young a specimen as could be 
selected from these little "Joeys" promised much 
in the way of education and docility — qualities in 
which the older birds are invariably lacking. 

So I plied John Chinaman with questions : 

4 8 



"Will they never end this babble? Why do 
they keep up such a squeaking? Are they so very 

To all of which John, with just the ghost of a 
Chinese smile on his yellow face, replied : 

" Can catchee plentee eat, no can makee muchee 
sing. How can ?" 

This meant that it would be easy to keep the 
birds quiet if they had enough to eat. That 
would be easy enough, I thought, and forthwith 
I bought one of the little parrots. But I soon dis- 
covered my mistake, and after striving vainly for 
twenty-four hours to quiet my new pet I gave him 
into the keeping of a Melbourne bird-fancier until 
I was ready to sail for home. 

And so it came to pass that, about six months 
later, I arrived in Philadelphia, having as a travel- 
ing companion and pet possession a full-fledged 
great white cockatoo — "Our Joe!" 

The cockatoo, as you know, belongs to the par- 
rot family, and receives its name because of its 
peculiar call, or cry. "Our Joe" is a fine speci- 
men of the species known as the sulphur-crested 
cockatoo. He stands about fourteen inches in 
height, and is of a warm white color, with the ex- 
ception of the crest, the tail feathers, and the under 
parts of the wings, which are tinted with a delicate 
lemon yellow. His legs are sturdy, and his 
strong claws — like those of all climbing birds — 
have two toes in front and two reaching back- 
ward ; his strong curved beak suggests the tearing 
propensities that make his tribe the enemy of 
the Australian farmer — being strong enough to 

rest, deftly throws the broken food down his throat. 
The plumes of his graceful crest are fitted into a 
powerful muscle on the forehead, which forces it 



crack a shell-bark, and delicate enough to separate a 
canary-seed or split the thinnest visiting-card. His 
funny thumb-like tongue, which is seldom at 

erect or folds it down, at will. Anger, excitement, 
curiosity, surprise, or docility, all are expressed 
by the motions of this curious crest, and of the 
bright, black, bead-like eyes. 

Before Joe had reached Philadelphia he had 
learned many lessons. He knew how to be agree- 
able to his friends, and — I grieve to say it — how 



to make himself highly disagreeable when the fancy 
seized him. These accomplishments he still pos- 
sesses. He loves to torment the dogs and cats, 
whose natural enemy he is, by the most provoking 
barking or mewing. As a song-bird, it must be 
admitted that " Joe " is a total failure. 

When his pranks lead to a well-merited punish- 
ment, he assumes an air of injured innocence, and 
calmly inquires, "What's the matter?" When 
hungry, he declares over and over again, " Break- 
fast ought to be ready ! " If thirsty, he cries out, 
"Joe wants a drink ! " And when sick from over- 

ally taking a sly observation to discover whether he 
is attracting attention. He knows that this won- 
derful feat will greatly interest the servant, and, 
although quite well aware that he is doing wrong, 
he cannot resist the temptation to have a little 
lively fun at the expense of somebody else. 

When discovered and dragged ignominiously 
from the scuttle, he is a sorry sight indeed. Going 
into it a very white bird, he comes out as black and 
unrecognizable as the hardest-working coal-heaver. 
Such a feat once performed successfully enables 
him to remain quietly upon his perch for an hour 


eating, as is not unfrequently the case, he says 
very plaintively, "Poor Joe!" and begs to be 

After he had destroyed a number of cages pro- 
vided for him he was finally given a standing perch 
in the kitchen, and there he spends his time invent- 
ing all sorts of plans and devices, by which to while 
away his somewhat monotonous existence. 

Cautiously leaving his perch, he scurries away to 
the coal scuttle, and, clambering up its side, he 
plunges into it. if he finds it only partially filled; 
and then he proceeds energetically to unload the 
coal, throwing it out, to the right and left, occasion- 
Vol. XIII. — 4. 

or two, apparently lost in thought. Nature, how- 
ever, has provided the White Cockatoo with a very 
fine white powder which is plentifully supplied, ap- 
parently from some portion of its feathers ; so that 
in an hour after a coal frolic, "Joe" is as cleanly 
and white as ever. 

He is a social bird, and can not bear to be alone. 
He is fond of being on one's knees. From the 
chair-back, or your shoulders, he will kiss you, 
or will whisper pretty nothings in your ear. He is 
greatly given to whispering, indeed ; and he is. 
after his own fashion, much of a flatterer. Ap- 
proaching you carefully, saying in a subdued tone, 




"Come on, Joe," he loiters around until he has 
attracted your attention ; and at the first encour- 
aging word or glance, he starts up the chair-back, 
or perhaps climbs upon your knee. If, on the 
contrary, he is greeted with a testy " Get out ! " he 
does not admit that he is disconcerted by his dis- 
missal. He simply has business elsewhere ; his at- 
tention is immediately attracted along the floor to 
minute fragments of nothing, which he proceeds 
apparently to dine upon with great relish, mean- 

the cry of " whoop !" when he quickly uncovers 
his head, only to replunge it out of sight for 
another trial. An empty paper bag furnishes him 
with much amusement in this way. It is only fair 
to observe that his occupancy of the work-basket 
is generally attended with serious derangement of 
spools and needles ; indeed "Joe" often withdraws 
the needles and pins from the cushion and sticks 
them into the carpet, one by one. 

The strumming of a guitar or piano will set him 


while moving gradually toward the door. This 
once gained, he turns, and, looking up at you, 
makes two or three bandy-legged bounds, lets fly 
a little satirical chuckle as if to say, "I have my 
opinion of yon," and, with this Parthian shot, dis- 

Among the accomplishments of this rather re- 
markable bird may be mentioned " scratch-cradle," 
dancing, and an insatiable desire to play " Hide- 
and-seek." Concealing his head in a corner, under 
a newspaper, or in a lady's work-basket, — if one 
happens to be on the floor, — he will await patiently 

wild with glee, and he will dance, after a fashion, 
which, if not the most graceful in the world, is 
evidently highly enjoyable to himself. He can 
waltz, too, and his favorite airs are in 2-4 or polka 
time. Whatever sport he chooses to engage in, 
he always obtains his full share of the enjoyment. 
" Joe " is not only amusing and ornamental, but 
he is also an excellent guardian, as he barks loudly 
at all strangers, and has an instinctive aversion to 
beggars and tramps. He has his full amount of 
vanity, too. Decorate him with some pretty little 
head-gear, and he will permit it to remain, undis- 




turbed, upon his top-knot, and will be highly 
pleased with the admiration of his friends, and 
very proud of his fine looks and his decoration. 

A tragic episode in 
" Joe's " career will 
serve to close this 
account of my queer 
little waif from Aus- 
tralia. It was really 
a massacre of the 
Punch family — who 
were ruthlessly sac- 
rificed to the bird's 

He always showed 
great dread of dolls 
or mannikins, and 
this led us to tease 
him by placing our 
pet Punchinello at 
the foot of his perch. 
Fear of the uncanny 
thing kept him a 
close prisoner for 
some time ; but one 
day he came cau- 
tiously down the up- 
right pole, and backed 

judiciously away from the rear of the hated mon- 
strosity. This provoked a new device ; another 

now managed to escape, with much trepidation — 
from one side ; but gradually the entire collection 
of mannikins was placed around his perch, so that 


they laid siege to him. At this "Joe" became 
greatly incensed. His crest rose and fell every min- 

grinning figure was placed back of the stand. 
After long contemplation of the situation "Joe" 

ute in the day. (It is a curious fact that it never 
seemed to occur to him that he might fly from 




the perch. He has never attempted to reach it or 
leave it in that way, but invariably climbs up or 
down by means of his feet and beak. ) 

And now " Joe's " life began to have a shade of 
anxiety in it, until at last he became quite unhappy. 
One memorable day, stealthily descending from 
aloft, he dashed suddenly into the charmed circle, 
and seized Mrs. Punch by her wonderful frilled cap. 
Then, with crest erect and eyes flashing, — his form 
trembling with rage and excitement, — he rushed 
up the pole, and, once more safely aloft, he tore the 
offending Judy into pieces, with an energy border- 
ing on insanity. This tremendous effort sufficed 

for the remainder of the day, during which he sat up- 
on his perch with his feathers ruffled and trembling. 
So, one by one, the members of that unfortunate 
family fell victims to his hatred. For a long time, 
he did not dare to attack Punch himself; but he 
finally mustered courage sufficient to attempt the 
capture of his arch-enemy, and, a few minutes 
later, the terrible toy, stripped of his gilt and tin- 
seled bravery, lay hopelessly broken and disfigured, 
upon the floor. On the wall, at the back of 
" Joe's " perch, now hang the mangled remains of 
his victims — an eloquent and pathetic proof of his 
prowess as a fighting cockatoo. 


By Henry S. Cornwall. 

SAUCEBOX, in your hickory high, 
What odd fancy, I would know, 

As I pass your province by, 
Makes you chatter at me so? 

One so elegant and spruce, 

Should not mean it for abuse 

Of a wayworn, sad recluse ; 
Neither let thy instinct fine 
Fear for blunderbuss of mine ! 
Comrades, rather, let us be, 
In these brown woods, gypsy-free ! 

Would I, too, could leave the fret 
Wrought of drudgery and debt, 

And could say to care farewell ! 
Leaving all the dusty town, 

So with you a year to dwell ! 

Not a sunshine-checkered dell, 
But we 'd hunt it up and down ! 
Not a wild-grape tangled nook, 
Not a hazel-bordered brook 

Haunted of the speckled trout, 

But we 'd know it, in and out ! 

Under clump of briar and birch, 
Slyly, Gray-back, would we search, 
Where the partridge loves the best 
To conceal her careful nest, 
And the berried fruit is seen 
Of the fragrant wintcrgreen ! 

When November, gray and chill, 
Lays his hand on field and hill, 
And the streamlet's song is lost 

Under banks of frozen furze, — 
And the wedges of the frost 

Pry apart the chestnut-burrs, — 
Ah, what pleasure should be ours, 

Hearing wind and woodland battle, 

While the ripened shagbarks rattle 
To the ground in ivory showers ! 

Sometimes, on a floating chip 

(Woodsmen say), your breezy tail 
Serves you as a kind of sail ; 
And with this queer sort of ship, 
You achieve the dangerous trip, 

Reaching safe the farther shore, 
Alien kingdoms to explore ! 
Not more confidently brave 
Sailed Columbus o'er the wave — 
Buffeted and tempest-blown, 
Westward, toward a world unknown 

Ah, what joy can mortals feel 
Who would shut you in a wheel? 

For what kindness can assuage 

Captive conscious of his cage ? 
Something 't is to be a pet, 
Loved of humankind ; but yet, 

One unpleasant thought intrudes : 
Were I you, in such a plight, 
I should lie awake at night, 

Homesick for the summer woods ! 
— But, as all discourse must end, 
Fare you well, my little friend; 
Prythee, comrade, meet me here, 
When I call again, next year ! 

i88 5 .: 




(Recollections of a Page in the United Stales Senate. ) 

By Edmund Alton. 

Chapter XXVII. 


THE rush of "reigning monarchs " to the Capitol 
was incessant. Indeed, I have many a time been 
actually hindered in the performance of my duties 
as a page by the crowd of "sov- 
ereigns " who surged through the 
corridors of the building ! 
I met scores of them ev 
ery day, — monarchs, 

ers. They seized on everything that they could 
pull apart. At General Grant's first inauguration, 
the President had scarcely retired from the grand 
stand, when a crowd of citizens clambered up the 
sides from the ground below, and, within a minute, 
the chair which the Chief Magistrate had occupied 
was split into a score of fragments, — one man 
capturing a leg of it, another an arm, an- 
other a part of a rung, and all march- 
ing away with them as trophies 
of the event ! After the fun- 
eral ceremonies over 


untitled and uncrowned, yet wielding the scepter 
of authority ! You never heard of them, do you 
say? Why, I have been addressing some of them 
all this while, — I mean yourselves and the rest of 
the American people ! 

Ah! these "sovereigns!" Some of them, I 
regret to say, had no respect for the sanctity of 
the place. This was especially true of relic-hunt- 

Senator Sumner, the relic-hunters sought to ob- 
tain pieces of the mourning emblems around his va- 
cant chair. The crape was cut into bits by a score 
of knives. Indeed, the jack-knives even attacked 
the mahogany of the desk itself, and I remember 
that a policeman had to be stationed at the chair 
to prevent further sacrilege ! 

1 have seen these relic-hunters at their work on 

Copyright, 1S84, by Edmund Alton. All rights reserved. 




several other solemn occasions. In fact they are 
everywhere. They go to Mount Vernon to visit the 
tomb of Washington, and break the mortar and 
rocks from the walls of the old vault, cut twigs from 
the shubbery and trees, and carry away any little 
thing that will serve as a memento of the place ! 
They write their names on the walls of the dome of 
the Capitol, and wherever they can get a foothold. 
Such defacement is not patriotism, it is vandalism. 

But the sight-seers proper are the "sover- 
eigns" of whom I intended to write. They 
ramble wherever they see an opening, and they 
frequently are lost in the intricate maze of rooms 
and corridors in the building. The most interest- 
ing room, to most visitors, is the Rotunda. In it, 
all classes of pilgrims congregate, and, on any day, 
a person seated in one of the settees near the 
wall can see many distinguished men and many 
human curiosities pass through. The first thing a 
stranger does upon reaching this place, is to gaze in 
silent wonder at the vast proportions of the room. 

Some visitors show marked interest in the paint- 
ings on the canopy above. One group represents 
" War," another " Manufactures," and the others 
have similar allegorical meanings. But the most con- 
spicuous painting is a group of angelic " Sisters," 
representing the thirteen original States surround- 
ing the Father of his Country, who sits upon a cloud 
with the epaulettes of a general upon his shoulders ! 

But these " heroic" figures, if capable of appre- 
ciation, would undoubtedly laugh as heartily at the 
panorama below them as the tourists on the floor 
laugh at the oddity of the spectacle above. It is one 
of the most entertaining diversions to ascend the 
stairs to the gallery and, leaning over, to study the 
mass upon the floor. The people look like queer 
pigwidgeons without bodies. All that one can see 
are the tops of hats and a number of waving 
"prongs" that stand for moving arms and legs! 

(To lit 

I can not describe the scene, but must refer you to 
the skill of the artist for a representation of it. 

There was one ovation tendered to a visiting 
"sovereign." by the House, of which few people 
have ever heard. And yet its recipient belonged 
to an order of kings who reign over every home 
upon the habitable globe, — whimsical, fretful, dom- 
ineering, yet good-natured monarchs ! I mean 
that small bundle of inconsistencies, that "bald- 
headed tyrant from no-man's land," — the baby ! 

He came to the Capitol one summer night, 
and the first glimpse I caught of him was in his 
mother's arms in the gallery of the House. It was 
then about one o'clock in the morning, but the 
hall was crowded with all conditions of humanity. 
The speeches were dull and tedious, and even the 
baby could not restrain his feelings of impatience. 
So he cried with all his might ! 

Now, what do you suppose the law-makers did 
when their proceedings were interrupted in this 
way ? Did they order their sergeant-at-arms to 
arrest the offender and put him into jail for his 
contempt ? No ! The member who had the floor 
deliberately sat down, while the other Congress- 
men wheeled upon their chairs and cheered ! The 
galleries took it up, and the cheering lasted fully 
a minute. Then the noise ceased in order to 
give the baby a chance to respond. But he had 
relapsed into a quiet mood. So the members and 
galleries decided to " call him out," and, with 
cries of "bravo!" "encore!" and the like, the 
applause broke out afresh ! And not until after 
that little monarch had left the hall, was the so- 
called "order" of the House restored ! 

But the incident I have narrated occurred during 
a night session, when members and listeners were 
ready to welcome any break in the monotony of the 
proceedings ; and it is not every baby who visits the 
Capitol, that is accorded such a reception. 

•oniinued. j 


By H. H. Clark, U. S. N. 

Fred MONCRIEF and Ben Aston, two wide- 
awake American " middies," looked down from 
the summit of Mount Pagus upon the blue /Egean 
Sea and the buildings and busy quays of the old city 
of Smyrna. The American frigate to which the 
boys belonged rode at anchor in the harbor, and 
the lads had obtained leave of absence, which they 
were enjoying greatly. 

Smyrna and the .-Egean Islands were all well 
enough in their way, but Fred's desires had a 
wider range. 

" Let 's go down to Ephesus," said he, as they 
stopped to rest upon the mountain-top, and to 
take in the extended view. " It will be great fun, 
and I 've heard so much about the ruins of the old 
place that I really want to see it. It 's only fifty 



miles away, you know. We can take an army tent, nose sent back to Smyrna with the demand for a 
and with our guns and a couple of donkeys we can heavy ransom. I like to read about brigands and 


--> ,5V" 

•- ' ■'' ' ; - r: " ! >? < ^i§K 


manage to see the sights and have some sport Bashi-bazouks, but I have no desire to cultivate 
besides." their acquaintance." 

" But," inquired Ben, "can we go so far from "I think we need n't fear," rejoined Fred; 


the coast without having trouble with the Turks ? " travelers go to Ephesus all the time, and I have 
I ! ve heard that the caves of Ephesus are infested only heard of one who had met with trouble." 
with robbers, and I don't care to have my ear or Fred's suggestion was speedily acted upon, and 



in less than a week after the trip to Mount Pagus 
a little white tent marked the encampment of the 
two middies on one of the numerous eminences 
overlooking the wide plain now strewn with the 
ruins of ancient Ephesus. "Nip" and 
" Tuck," two rather unpretentious-looking 
donkeys, were tethered on a small green 
plateau just below ; while the boys, with a 
fine setter crouching behind them, lay on the 
border of a marsh with their fowling-pieces 
leveled at a flock of wild fowl which had just 
alighted in the long grass and were making 
a bountiful supper. 

Two simultaneous shots, — a spring from 
the setter, — and then a handsome brace of 
birds was laid at the boys' feet. The setting 
sun soon admonished them that they must 
climb the hill where their tent stood, and 
prepare for their first night among the ruins 
of Ephesus. They were well equipped for 
camping out. Everything they could think 
of as necessary to comfort had been brought ; 
and there was really enough for the demands 
of a household. 

But before "turning in," the boys, 
their fine lookout, took a survey of the 
serted city. From that very spot, thou- 
sands of people might once have been 
seen, while hundreds 

pedition, was barking vociferously. Under Fred's 
supervision, the game of the night before was 
soon sizzling over the camp fire. Ben, having 
silenced the appeal of the donkeys with a plentiful 

of vessels rode upon 
the beautiful reach of 
water beyond. Now, 
not a human being was 
in sight, and the water 
was as desolate as an 
Adirondack lake. A 
feeling of lonesome- 
ness, almost of dread, 
stole over the boys. 
But presently the moon 
arose and bathed every 
object in a soft and 
beautiful light ; the 
lads welcomed her joy- 
fully, and, their feeling 
of awe subsiding, they 
were soon as soundly 
asleep as if in their ham- 
mocks on the frigate. 

Early in the morn- 
ing the lads were astir 
and busy at their prep- 
arations for breakfast. 
" Nip " and " Tuck " 

were braying loudly for their morning meal, while 
"Scott," the setter which the English consul at 
Smyrna, had kindly loaned to the boys for their ex- 


supply of wheat cut from a field at the foot of the 
hill, prepared a special breakfast for the dog, and at 
last came at Fred's call to enjoy the fowl, hot from 



the frying-pan, with its appetizing accompaniment 
of hard-tack and coffee. 

As they breakfasted, Fred, who was quite an 
enthusiast in history and archaeology, gave Ben all 
the points as to the former grandeur of Ephesus. 
He told him that there once stood, where now were 
only crumbling walls and moldering blocks and 
columns, a city imperial in magnificence, and one 
of the wonders of the ancient world ; that its streets 
were as thronged with merchants and its docks 
with shipping, as are those of the great city of 
Liverpool to-day ; that it was the capital of Ionia, 
the pride of Alexander, and as favorite a resort for 
travelers, as is the Paris of our times. He told of 
its theater which seated more than fifty thousand 
people, and its stadium, or race-course, where foot 
and chariot races were run and which would hold 
one hundred and fifty thousand spectators. He 
declared that in its prosperity the port of Ephesus 
rivaled the greatest harbors of modern times in 
vast breakwaters and miles of quays; and last of 
all he pointed to the spot at the head of the old har- 
bor where once stood the marvelous temple of Di- 
ana, one of the " seven wonders of the world," four 
hundred and twenty-five feet long by two hundred 
feet wide, graced with one hundred and twenty- 
seven columns, each sixty feet high, — a temple of 
which it was said that the sun in all his course saw 
nothing more magnificent. 

By eight o'clock, everything was ready for the 
day's work, and the boys set out in great glee. 
Fred rode "Nip," while Ben bestrode "Tuck." 
Thus mounted, with their guns strapped across 
their backs and navy revolvers in their belts, they 
looked as formidable as young Bashi-bazouks. 

The donkeys were turned toward the old thea- 
ter, which Fred, who was quite an artist, wished 
to sketch, while Ben, who had a taste for architec- 
ture, made a note of its measurements. 

" This is our first, or rather second, halting- 
place," said Fred, as they drew up under an old 
arch, where there was a good shade for the don- 
keys. It had evidently been a part of the foun- 
dation of the outer works of the great theater. 
"What a fine place for sketching ! " he continued, 
as he drew forth his drawing materials, and quickly 
threw the whole outline upon a page of his sketch- 
book. " There was little chance of a panic in such 
a theater as this," he mused, as his imagination 
restored it to its original form. " Do you see, Ben ; 
it was open at the top like a Spanish bull-ring ; the 
stage was almost level with the floor ; while the 
marble seats rose to a great height in a place hol- 
lowed out of the hill in the form of a horseshoe." 

"Think of it," he continued, as Ben, who had 
been taking the dimensions of the front part of 
the theater, joined him on the stage, " this theater 

would have held the whole population of our city 
of Washington, and you could put every man, 
woman, and child of Fall River in this audito- 
rium now, and still have room enough for the 
largest crowd that ever greeted Patti in London or 
New York. There used to be more people pres- 
ent at the Olympic games in Ephesus than any 
exposition or carnival of our day could possibly 
call together. I say, Ben, let 's sing a song on this 
old stage — (it will hardly be a Greek chorus), 
— and when we get home we can boast that we 
have given a performance in the biggest thea- 
ter in the world." So. with no audience save the 
dog, the donkeys, and the birds, the boys sang 
with a rollicking vehemence that might — or might 
not — have called forth a storm of applause in the 
time of Xenophon ; but it is quite possible that 
their song was the only one which had wakened 
the echoes of the old theater for fifteen hundred 

" Come, "said Ben, at length; " we must n't waste 
any time ; we have a great deal to see. We might 
spend a month exploring among these old ruins and 
then not see half of them. Let us start now for 
the Temple of Diana ; it is some distance away, and 
we must be more expeditious." 

"Nip" started off at a vigorous pace, and 
"Tuck" kept up as well as he could; while 
"Scott," in an ecstacy of delight, chased the birds 
along the way. 

A long trench constantly impeded their prog- 
ress. It was so very crooked, they were frequently 
obliged to force the donkeys to leap it, and this 
was no small task. 

" This," said Fred, " must have been the trench 
which Mr. Wood, the celebrated English archi- 
tect, cut in his search for the Temple of Diana. 
Even the site of the building had been lost for 
centuries. Mr. Wood read several ancient accounts 
of the temple, and, from the descriptions given, by 
opening this trench he found the street or rather 
colonnade, leading to its very porch. Following 
along, taking the course indicated by the ancient 
authors, he came at last to the foundations of the 
temple. He found a great many inscriptions and 
fragments which were sent to England in a man- 
of-war, and are now in the British Museum." 

At this point the lads put spurs to the donkeys, 
whistling, as they hurried on, to Scott, who was 
not yet tired of chasing birds. They could only 
glance at St. Luke's tomb, which Mr. Wood also 
discovered, and which bears on a small, simple tab- 
let a sculptured ox, the symbol of that Apostle.* 
Past the ruinsof theaters, and gymnasiums, through 
the Magnesian gate, down by the ancient Cus- 
tom-house, and along the wall of the inner har- 
bor they rode, and presently dismounted where 

' The t?.v as the symbol of St. Luke is based on Ezckiel i., 10. 




the Temple of Diana once glittered in brilliant 

" Here we are ! " exclaimed Fred. 

"Is this all there is of the great temple ?" in- 
quired Ben rather ironically. " I have seen better- 
looking ruins than this up the Hudson ; it does n't 
compare with the stone mill at Newport." 

" Well, all ruins are chiefly interesting on ac- 
count of their history," was Fred's laconic rejoinder. 
"It was the most wonderful building of ancient 
times. Each of its one hundred and twenty-seven 
columns was the present of a king ; there were 
beautiful folding doors of cypress-wood, and there 
was a staircase made of a single vine from the 
Island of Cyprus. Besides being a religious temple, 
it was the great treasury of Western Asia ; there 
were times when it contained nearly as much 
wealth as the Bank of England holds nowadays. 
Alexander the Great offered to devote the spoils 
of his Eastern conquests to it, if he were allowed 
to place his name over the entrance ; but the offer 
was declined. The Ephcsians were so enthusiastic 
about it that the ladies of Ephesus contributed 
their jewelry toward the cost of building it." 

As Fred concluded, he leaped down upon the 
marble pavement several feet below. 

" Come down here, Ben ! " he called, " may be 
we can find something worth taking home." 

The boys were soon in a long narrow pit which 
uncovered a strip of the ancient floor, and Fred 
was digging vigorously with the end of a tough 
root. Ben joined him with. a commendable show 
of energy. 

" What if we should find a little silver shrine of 
Diana, such as we read about in the Bible ? " pro- 
posed Ben. 

" I fancy all the silver about this building went 
to the mosques of Constantinople and the cathe- 
drals of Italy, hundreds of years ago," replied 
Fred ; but just then a shower of dirt disclosed a 
small object which upon examination proved to 
be a gold coin. 

" Luck has begun ! " shouted Fred, much elated. 
Soon an exclamation of astonishment escaped both 
boys as something, which they had taken for a 
small square stone, broke away from the bank and 
fell at their feet. 

" Perhaps it 's a treasure-box ! " cried Ben. 

" It could n't be possible." said Fred, " that a 
treasure-box of that size could have escaped all the 
hands that have robbed this temple. But anyhow, 
we 've made a discovery," he continued, as he 
raised the object and began to dig away the rust. 

In a moment, Fred found himself cutting into 
solid silver; the box, too, proved to be very heavy. 
" If we can get this box away," resumed Fred, "our 
fortune is made. May be it holds some relic or 

even jewels that were sacred to the goddess Diana. 
It is heavy enough to be full of gold." 

While our heroes were debating as to the possi- 
ble contents of the box, a growl from " Scott," 
and a slight sound on the edge of the pit, caused 
the boys to look above them ; and there they beheld 
a startling spectacle. Gazing quietly down upon 
them, stood two men whose hostile character could 
hardly be mistaken. They were profusely and 
heavily armed ; pistols and daggers protruded from 
an apron-like arrangement in front of them, while 
sabers in gleaming scabbards hung at their side. 
They were dressed in the picturesque costume of 
Bashi-bazouks, and their pistol-stocks and dagger- 
hilts fairly glittered with the clusters of pearls, 
corals, and precious stones which decorated them. 
They were powerfully built men, evidently moun- 
taineers, and probably brigand chiefs, Fred thought. 
The men were so passive that the boys had time 
to think a little about the situation, while their ob- 
servers stood regarding them with the utmost cool- 
ness, as though they already had them pinioned 
captives. Singularly enough, they were without 
rifles ; this the boys noted at once. Either they 
had none at all, which was improbable, or they 
had left them at some point close by. 

"We must get out of this pit first," said Fred, 
under his breath. "Then we can make a dash 
for our guns, and if they send a pistol-shot after 
us, we '11 pepper 'em back. Don't let them get 
hold of you, Ben, for you see what giants they are." 

If the brigands, for such they undoubtedly were, 
had any suspicion that two youngsters like Fred 
and Ben would dare do anything but peace- 
ably surrender, they failed to show it. Obviously 
they had been accustomed to having things their 
own way ; as yet they had been content with 
making an imperative sign for the boys to come 
out of the pit. Their cool audacity aroused Ben's 
anger, which was all that was needed to overcome 
his first and natural trepidation. With the agility 
of trained sailors, the boys swung themselves 
out of the pit about a dozen yards from where the 
brigands stood. 

" Now is the time ! " cried Fred, as they made a 
dash for their guns, which the brigands had not 
yet discovered. 

There were two sharp reports — and two pistol- 
balls sung so close to our heroes' heads that they 
could feel the thrill of the atmosphere along their 
track. Another, and still another shot followed, 
the last carrying away a piece of Fred's collar 
and grazing Ben's right shoulder. 

Suddenly the firing ceased, and the brigands 
started after the boys at a tremendous pace. 
Evidently their ammunition was gone, and by this 
time they had discovered the boys' plan and their 



own blunder in allowing them to get such a start. 
They would easily be able to cut the boys down 
with their sabers if they overtook them. The lads 
could hear the heavy thump of the brigands' feet 
upon the ground as. with rapid strides, they bore 
down upon them. The guns were still fifty yards 
away and their pursuers were gaining on them 
every instant. Every ten yards they made brought 
the brigands one or two yards nearer. The boys 
threw all their strength into the race and bounded 
forward like deer. Twenty yards, thirty, forty, 
and now 
the brig- 
ands are 
within six- 
ty feet of 
them. But 
the last ten 
yards were 

The boys thought it might be well to get their 
opponents at a little nearer range. Without low- 
ering their pieces, they advanced a dozen paces. 
While doing this, Fred made a discovery which 
greatly pleased him. 

" Ben, glance over to the right, but don't move 
your head an inch," he said in a low tone. Ben 
did as directed ; and there, half-hid by the pier of 
an old aqueduct, only their heads and necks being 
visible, stood two fine Turkish horses ; while, resting 
against a snowy capital, glittered two beautiful 


made almost at a bound, and with a shout the 
boys grasp their guns. 

"We have them now, Ben," exultantly cried 
Fred, as they wheeled, and each covered his man 
with a deadly aim. " Don't fire," he added, quick- 
ly, as the brigands, thus confronted, came to a dead 
halt. " We '11 save our powder and shot." 

Events had taken a strange turn, and the as- 
tonished brigands were now the ones to discuss the 

rifles. " We 'li ride into Ayasalook on those 
horses," said Fred, in a determined manner. 
" Those fellows meant to capture us. We'll show 
them what we can do." 

But now came a rather difficult problem. The 
brigands stood in a direct line between our heroes 
and the horses. The slightest suspicion of what 
the boys meant to do would cause them to hazard 
the fire ready to open upon them any instant. 
Should the boys succeed in only wounding the 




brigands, when they recovered their rifles they 
could easily pick off the boys at along range, while 
the middies had nothing but their shot-guns with 
which to return their fire. While they held the 
brigands directly under their guns and made no 
demonstration toward the horses, the boys knew 
they were safe. Now, the real generalship of the 
fight came in. It required but a moment. A 
bright idea flashed upon Fred. Directly to the 
left of where they held the brigands under cover 
of their guns was the pit where they had discov- 
ered the silver box. 

" Ben," said he, "we will fall back toward the 
pit. We '11 make them think we are going after 
that box. In that way we shall flank them ; then 
we '11 make another run and slip in between them 
and the horses. We '11 keep them deceived until 
they are nearly out of range, and then we '11 make 
.a jump to intercept them." 

The boys fell back about forty yards, the brig- 
ands plainly not discovering the ruse. The field 
■of action now represented a triangle, with the 
horses at the apex and the boys and the brigands 
at the angles of the base. Suddenly down came 
the guns, and our heroes sprang for a point between 
the brigands and their horses. So completely had 
the robbers been deceived that the boys had full 
thirty seconds' start before the enemy saw through 
their maneuver. This time there were no pistol- 
shots to risk. Though hindered by the weight of 
the guns, the boys ran better than before. No 
base-ball player ever made his home-run more 
grandly than did they win the advantage which 
■was to bring them victory. At last they gained 
the desired position and again formed in line of 
battle. The sabers of the brigands flashed from 
their scabbards as though they were about to 

" Fire kneeling ! kneel ! aim ! fire ! " was the 
command from Fred, according to the military for- 
mula. Two barrels were emptied, and the left arm 

of one of the brigands fell powerless at his side. 
"Aim! fire!" was repeated, and another round 
sent the brigands scampering. 

It was an. easy matter now to fall back to the 
horses. Their uplifted revolvers warned their an- 
tagonists that an advance from them would be 
dangerous. When the boys reached the aqueduct, 
they coolly placed their guns beside the rifles, and 
while Fred kept watch Ben went around the pier 
and led up the horses. They decided that it would 
be better to ride in all haste to Ayasalook and re- 
port the matter immediately to the governor of the 
place. Should they delay, the brigands might be 
reenforced. Gathering up their arms, they leaped 
into the saddle and, boy-like, could not refrain from 
giving the brigands a parting salute of two guns as 
they gave rein to their horses and dashed over the 
plains of Ephesus. 

They told their story in French, to the governor, 
at the same time informing him that they be- 
longed to the United States Navy. He at once 
offered them a detachment of cavalry and the 
use of the captured horses ; and that evening they 
rode back to their camp. When they reached the 
Temple of Diana, they once more dismounted and 
leaped eagerly into the pit to recover the silver 
box. But the brigands had been too sharp for them 
there, though. " Nip " and " Tuck " were found 
where they had left them, and everything about 
the camp was undisturbed. 

" Fred," solemnly observed Ben, as the donkeys 
were again loaded and they were about to start for 
Smyrna, "great was Diana of the Ephesians, no 
doubt, as the people in the Bible story declared; 
but if those fellows had once captured us, it would 
have been the eighth wonder of the world if we 
got away with whole skins." 

"Or whole pockets," added Fred; and with 
a sigh of relief, the middies joined their vessel 
in Smyrna harbor, and abandoned all further dig- 
ging and searching at the shrine of Diana. 


By Esther B. Tiffany. 

•Oh, Birdie, fly ! for the maple-tree, 
Where your nest is hid so cunningly, 
With scarlet flames is ablaze, I see. 

On the maple's mantle the bright sparks fall, 
On the creeping woodbine along the wall ; 
On the sturdy oak-trees, stanch and tail. 

For Autumn, that wanton, gold-haired boy, 
Roams wild, with a flaming torch for a toy,- 
And he fires the trees with a reckless joy. 

Oh, Birdie, fly ! to the Southland hie, 

For the woods are blazing beneath our sky, 

And your home is on fire, Birdie, — fly ! 



By Ella S. Welch. 

What to make for a Christmas present, is the 
puzzling question for many a girl and many a boy at 
the holiday season. Every one knows that a gift 
that comes with the giver's own loving care and 
labor wrought into it, has more real significance, 
and is often more appreciated than the costly 
presents that any one with money can buy. Some 
years ago — in November, 1877 — St. Nicholas 
printed an article describing more than seventy sim- 
ple gifts that could P - be made at home ; 



and that paper, with 
tions, proved very 
advance in artistic 
has been made i 
eight years, how- p 

its useful sugges- 
popular. A large 
ideas and designs 
within the last 
and a new 

red plush drawn smoothly over it and glued 
to the back of the star. Cut away one end of a 
small tin box, and cover the two sides and the 
cover with red plush ; run a band of fancy ribbon 
diagonally across its face. Paste a piece of sand- 
paper on the lower end, and attach this box to the 
star by strong thread passed through holes in 
the back of the box, and corresponding holes in the 
star. Ten cents will purchase half a foot of the 
light wire used as a seed protector around bird- 
cages; cut and fold this in boat form of the re- 
quired length ; overhand the ends with red silk, 
and attach it by this to 
the star. 


can be made by 
any bright boy 
handy with tools, 
from a strip of half- 
inch pine, thirty- 


collection of hints for Christmas presents is of- 
fered in the following pages. All of the articles 
here named can be made by industrious young folk 
possessing taste and discrimination ; and gifts, both 
useful and ornamental, may thus be prepared, at 
a very moderate expense for material, but in a way 
that will well express affectionate good-will. 


is an attractive and useful wall decoration com- 
bining a match-holder, burnt-match receiver and 
striking-surface. Cut from heavy pasteboard a star 
measuring six inches in diameter; cover with 

six inches long and 
twenty-three inches 
wide. Saw out a 
curved piece on one 
side, and plane the 
whole board nicely. 
Outline with a lead 
pencil the checker- 
squares, backgam- 
mon points, and 
yard-measure ; get 
a small quantity of 
black-walnut stain from any paint or drug store, and 
with a small brush go over the board, tracing the 
outline and making each alternate square or point 
in solid color, as shown in the diagram. 






Cut out six wedge-shaped pieces of paste-board 
for the crown of the cap, a small perforated piece 
for the top and a larger piece of proper shape 
and dimensions for the visor bottom. Cover the six 
wedge-shaped pieces with plush on one side and 
silesia on the other, making three in dark colors and 
three in light — say 

- <§m- 

" J '■■■ -i:-r- ■■'■■"' 


red and yellow, 
dark red and light 
blue, or purple and 
white. Overhand 
them together, 
leaving a small 
hole where they 
join at top ; cover 
the perforated 
round piece for the 
button, and sew it 
on at the top. Cov- 
er the visor with 
two pieces of plush, 
lapped in the mid- 
dle, so as to form 
a pocket for the 
scissors ; cover the 
entire under part 
with plush also. Sew the bottom piece on at the 
back only ; fasten at the front with a loop and but- 
ton. Place the ball of twine inside, passing the end 
through the hole at the top. 


A few cents will purchase 
two pieces of " scrap," at any 
shoe factory where goods of 
alligator skin are made. Cut 
one piece to measure five and 
a half inches long by three 
and a half wide, and another 
three and a half by three 
aches. Round off the lower 
corners of each piece : line 
both with the soft kid used 
in facing the tops of ladies' 
shoes. (This may 
be done on the 
machine at home 
or at the nearest 
shoe factory.) Lay 
the smaller piece 
and lining togeth- 
er, and stitch them around the top ; then place the 
lining on the larger piece, and join the back and 
front by stitching them all around, as nearly to 





the edge as possible. If you try to do this on your 
home machine, use a large needle and heavy silk. 
The clasp, which may 
be bought for a few 
cents at any pocket- 
book manufactory, 
should now be fastened 
on, and an eyelet hole 
worked in the flap to make 
it secure. A card-case can 
be made in the same way. 


Purchase a sufficient quantity, of hol- 
land of desired tint, — "aqua marine " or 
"cream" arc pretty colors, — and run a 
hem 1 j4 inches deep across the lower part 
of the shade. With an ordinary-sized 
tea-cup, outline as many dotted circles as you 
desire the pattern to include ; then with a thimble 
outline smaller dotted circles in the center of the 
larger ones ; draw lead-pencil lines from the center 
to the circumference. With a long needleful of silk, 
work these outlined circles on both sides of the hol- 
land, securing the ends so that they will not be seen. 
The linen fringe to match the holland may be pur- 
chased at any shade store ; stitch it by machine, 
across the bottom of the shade, slip the curtain stick 
through the hem, and screw in a couple of curtain- 
rings with cords to match the fringe attached. A 
more elaborate shade may be made by using one 
of the many " transfer patterns," to be found at any 
fancy store. This may be transferred to the cur- 
tain by means of a 
hot iron laid on the 
back of the pattern. 


Take a piece of 
stove-pipe of proper 
length; cov- 
er the out- 
side with 
by the yard 
at almost 
any paper-hanger's ; gild or bronze this with the 
liquid prepared for such purpose. Paint the inside 
of the pipe a dark red, and fit in a wooden bottom. 


Cut off one corner of a full-sized, linen-lined 
envelope (to be found at any stationery store), so 
as to have it fit over the corner of the book-leaf 

C§.fc r 




like a cap. Outline the lines and figures with a 
lead-pencil, then go carefully over them with ink. 
For variety, draw on some bright little flowers or 
vines, a monogram, Christmas greeting, or such 
other ornament as taste may suggest. 


Get or make two pasteboard boxes of the de- 
sired height, one of them two inches smaller in 
diameter than the other. 
Place one within the other, 
fastening the bases togeth- 
er, and join at the top with 
a two-inch strip of paste- 
board sewed strongly 
around the tops. Sew 
a neat cretonne panel 
on each side, with a 
band of plush at top 
and bottom and a 
plush ball and tassel 
at each corner. Line 
with silesia to match 
the plush. Or, the pan- 
els may be of satin with 
9. letter-rack. flowers painted in. 


Get a wooden box — a starch or soap box — 
from your grocer. Take it apart, and plane and 
smooth it carefully. Use the bottom of the box 
for the back of the rack. Cut one of the end 
pieces to a width of six inches, for the shelf; saw 
the brackets for the sides of the shelf from the 
side-pieces of the box, and cut the lid down to the 
right dimensions for the slanting front of the rack. 
Ebonize all the parts with the "ebony liquid" 
used by cabinet-makers ; nail shelf, brackets, and 
slanting front securely ; putty the nail-holes and 
blacken them, so that they will not be noticed. 
Cover the front of the rack with some neat border 
design in Lincrusta Walton, gluing it on, and gild- 
ing it, or leaving it the natural color, as desired. 
Put strong cord or fancy wire through the back 
of the rack to hang it up by. 


Cover the face of a common flat-iron with plush, 
cut an inch larger all around than the size of the 
iron. Fasten on the thermometer — (which can be 
bought at a slight expense) — as indicated in the 
engraving ; stitch a narrow piece of plush at the 
lower end of the iron, turning down the upper 
edge and stitching in three sections for 
postage-stamp pockets. Paint or em- 
broider a few flowers on the face of 
the plush. Before covering the rim, 
glue upon it a layer of cotton, 
sprinkled with sachet powder. 
Draw the plush smoothly over 
the cotton, and glue over the 
inner edge of the iron. Cover 
the inner edge with plush, and 
gild or paint in black such 
part of the handle 
_ or iron as is not 
covered with plush. 


Select two smooth and strong wooden butter- 
plates such as are supplied by your grocer ; cut one 
down for the pocket, as the picture shows ; place the 
edges together and glue a strip of black muslin over 
them. Give the whole two coats of black paint. 
Paste on daisies cut from cretonne or, better, 
paint them on — if you can ; varnish the whole rack 
inside and out with white varnish ; add hanging 
ribbons to match the daisies. 


For the back of this case cut a piece of cre- 
tonne 33 inches by 28; also one of the same di- 
mensions for the cover. Stitch these together. 
Cut the cover piece in points; stitch a piece of 

6 4 



narrow braid around these points. Cut another 
piece of cretonne 57 inches by 22 for the pockets; 
mark it off into six equal parts, and form the pock- 
ets by folding in box plaits 
fastening them by two rows of 
stitching between each pock- 
et. Hang the case on a 
brass rod, or a broom-han- 
dle covered with cre- 
tonne, with a tuft of 
worsted or a cretonne 
WfiOi rose tte at each end. 
Fasten it at the 
back, and hang it 
by loops. This case 
may also be used 
without a rod, sew- 
ing a half dozen 
loops at regular in- 
tervals tohangitby. 


Over a piece of 
heavy brown paper 
of the size of the 
proposed banner, 
stitch a piece of 
light sea-green cot- 
, .iwHkJ^.y I pi ton flannel for the 
t& W tH 1 W V'' <&'' central panel, and 

I 3 . CHRISTMAS BANNER. yery dark coUori 

flannel for the bands at bottom and top. The 
pendant balls are made with the dark flannel over 
round pieces of pasteboard. Suspend them on gilt 
cord; a heavier cord, to match, should be used for 
hanging the banner. Sew a piece of natural holly 
in the central panel ; cut the letters from white 
paper ; glue white cotton on their faces, and 
then sew the letters to the dark bands. Glue or 
stitch small bits of cotton all over the banner 
to suggest snow. Larger pieces should be glued 
at the top of the bands and upon the pendants. 


capable of holding several dozen cabinet or im- 
perial cards may be made by folding a piece of 
plush together and cutting it two inches larger 
than the card. Cut out a piece of wigan for 
lining, a trifle smaller, and baste it on the plush ; 
then baste the plush, and line the edges with 
satin, hemming this on with very fine stitches. 
The pockets are of plush, one-quarter the width of 
the case ; turn the edges of these and hem them 
to the back. Decorate the pockets with " Forget- 
me-nots," or some other appropriate flower. 


Get four bamboo sticks from some furniture 
factory, or four rustic sticks if bamboo is not 
obtainable ; gild the rustic sticks if these are used. 
Purchase a fancy straw basket, as shown in engrav- 
ing ; line it with satin. Make the lambrequin of 
plush of the color of the lining; cut the lower edge 
in squares and point each square. Embroider a 
spray of flowers in the space between the sticks. 
Line it with satin and attach to each point a tassel 
made of crewel. Fasten the lambrequin over the 
inner edge of the basket so as to conceal the top 
of the lining. Mount the basket on the sticks, 
tacking it on from the inside. 


To make the pansy, cut three pieces of purple 
velvet, and three of yellow silk, line with bits of 
white wigan, and join as nearly as possible in 
pansy form. Cut a back to fit the whole, cover 


this with purple velvet, and join it to the pansy 
with a layer of cotton between, sprinkled with 
sachet powder. A few lines of yellow paint on the 
purple leaves, and purple on the yellow leaves will 
give more of the pansy look. The star is formed 
of twelve diamond-shaped pieces of card-board — 
six for the front and six for the back, alternately 
covered with dark and light plush or velvet. Over- 

I88 5 .] 



hand the parts together, and join the back and 
front of the star, placing a layer of scented cotton 

The domino is made of black satin ribbon, cut 
to just the size of a domino. Work the dots in 
with white silk ; glue 
both faces to stiff 
card-board ; make a 
narrow edge of black 
satin, overhand the 
dominos together ; 
fill with bran and 
sachet powder before 
closing up one end. 

17. A CARD- 

may be made by cut- 
ting three pieces of 
rattan, each nine 
inches long, and 
joining them at the 
top by tying them 
together with strong 
thread. Spread two 
of them far enough 15. 



* E5 t/s 

apart at 
the bot- 
tom to Tfii E&aBSp *^" make a well-propor- 
tioned eas- lpy;ffiy r el, and attach the cross- 
piece as a V^ rest. Cut the envelope — a 
perfect square — from a piece of Panama canvas; 
bind the edges with narrow brown satin ribbon, 
and work some little pattern in the corners with 
brown silk ; fold and overhand the lower parts 
together into envelope-shape, and fasten it on the 
easel. Ravel out a piece of the canvas and tie a 
bunch of the raveling at the top and at each foot 
of the easel with a ribbon bow. 

Take a "scrap" of alligator skin, and cut two 
strips, each five and a half by three inches ; clip the 

Vol. XIII.— 5. 

corners to a " tag" shape. Cut out the center of 
the upper strip, leaving a margin half an inch wide ; 
stitch this margin to the under strip on three 
sides, leaving the clipped end unstitched ; fasten 
on this end a little strap and buckle for attaching 
the tag to the trunk handle. Cut several blank 
cards to fit the frame, and slip them in, ready for use. 


Cut out eight pieces of pasteboard, each Sy£ 
inches by 6 %. In four of these pieces cut away 
the centers to form the mats or inside of the screen. 
Cover each mat neatly with wine-colored satin, let- 
ting it overlap the opening in each mat about half 
an inch; slash and baste around each opening. 
Cover the back of the mats with silesia and hem 
the satin on this. Cover the other four pieces with 
satin on one side and silesia on the other ; over- 
hand them around the edges. Baste the mats 
and backs together, silesia inside, and over-hand 
them together on all sides 
except the top, which is left 
open for slipping in the pho- 
tograph. Decorate each mat 
neatly and gracefully. The 
name of the person to whom 
the screen is to be given may 
be worked on the outside. 


To the bottom of a 
round box — say a collar- 
box — about four inches 
in diameter and one and 
a half high, glue 
a piece of paste, 
board as a rim. 
■SS, Do not use the 
cover. Fill the 
box with curled 

hair. Crochet, from straw-colored Saxony worsted, 
a cover to fit snugly over the box and thus form the 
crown of the hat ; crochet a rolling rim on this 
and draw it over the pasteboard. Tie a ribbon 
around the crown as a hat-band, with a bow on 
one side, as shown in the diagram. 




Cut two pieces of silk or cashmere, each eleven 
inches long by nine wide ; use white wigan for 


interlining; baste the lining on; make the little 
caps and straps of wigan, cover them with plush, 
and then sew them in place, as here indicated. 
Baste on the outer cover, turn the edges, and sew 
the case together. A button and loop should fas- 
ten it on the outside when rolled up. 

Make three little well-proportioned plain bags 
of silk, or any choice material (three and a half 
by four and a half inches is a good size) ; stitch a 
place in the top of each to run a double cord 
_ through ; 

— .// button- 

hole stitch 
the hole 
where the 

on strips of either white ribbon or bright worsted 
braid. Fasten the ribbon ends in the notches; 
make bows at each end and one in the center. 


Cut two pieces of thin 
card-board, eight inches 
by ten. Embroider on 
the upper cover a cob- 
web, as in engraving, 
first outlining it with a 
pencil, and then going 
over the lines with long 
stitches. Bits of willow 
fastened around this 
make a rustic setting for 
the web. Line the under 
side of the cover with 
silesia, place a quantity of tinted tissue leaves be- 
tween the covers, and join the whole at one 
to match silesia lining. 

corner with a ribbon bov 


cord passes through, and join the bags together. 
This idea may be followed out for bags of all sizes 
from small silk ones for the work-basket to large 
calico ones used for 
rags and patches. 



The spiders are made of putty painted black, 
and with legs of fine wire. These webs can be 
purchased ready-made, but are perhaps rather 
too expensive for the nature of the gift. 


to keep boiled eggs warm until ready to be eaten, 
may be made of plush lined with chamois skin. 
Cut three pieces of plush and three of silk, into 

Buy a small wooden 
hoop at a toy store ; 
smooth and trim it nice- 
ly, and cut in it four 

notches at equal distances apart ; get a quantity, 
say two dozen, of small ivory or wooden rings from 
an upholsterer's, and slip these in equal quantities 

' ' v 1//' 


the shape shown in the diagram, and large enough, 
when joined, to snugly cover an egg ; join the 
plush and lining together by overhanding the 

•88 5 .] 


6 7 

chamois on the plush. The silk forms the inner 
lining. Any ornamentation can be applied in the 
way of embroidering or painting. 


Into the center of a toy row-boat fit a small glass 
inkstand. Fasten a couple of brass hooks on each 
side as pen-racks. The bow and stern of the boat 
can be used for holding stamps and loose pens. 
The boat can be left plain or may be decorated, 
according to taste. 



Pen-wipers in the form of little hats (fig. a.) 
are pretty and are easily made. For No. 1, cut two 
pieces of light cloth, bell-shaped ; overhand the 
edges together, and turn it up to form a ^ 
rim ; run a narrow ribbon around the 
crown, and stitch a couple of little feath- 
ers in this band. Fit four pieces of 
chamois skin inside the crown, tacking 
them in at the sides as pen-wipers. No. 3 is made 
in the same way without turning the rim, and 
adding, perhaps, a bit of painting on one side. 
No. 2 is a tiny fez ; make this of dark-red plush or 
velvet; cut a round piece for the crown, and a 
broad piece, slanted at the back to fit. Baste 
them over pieces of wigan of similar shape and 
then join together. Fasten a tassel of black silk 
at top. Fasten inside for a pen-wiper a tuft of 
chamois-skin made like a heavy shade tassel. 

For fig. b. select two good clam-shells, bore a 
hole in the hinge of each, gild both shells and 
glue some sea-weed, if you have it, on one sec- 
tion, or, if not, paint some Christmas motto in its 
place. Tie the shells together, first placing leaves 


of chamois inside as pen-wipers. Infig. c, the lily 
is made of white felt, for which twenty-tour pieces 
should be cut as nearly the shape of the lily petals 
as possible ; then cut out a half-dozen pieces of 
dark-green felt for 
leaves, makingthe 
veins on one leaf 
with a lighter 
shade of green 
silk. Sew the pet- 
als to this leaf to 
form the lily, tak- 
ing a little plait 
in each leaf before 
sewing, so as to 
make it stand out. 
Make the stem of 
wire wound around 
with green arra- 
sene. The plain 
leaves are sewed 
on the back and can be easily replaced with new ones 
when soiled. Old kid can be used in place of cham- 

Make the pin-cushion, needle-book, and scissors- 
case of such silk, satin, or cashmere as you may 
have at hand. Make the emery pouch of brown silk 
or cashmere over an acorn ; cut 
the nut out so as to fill the 
|k cloth with emery, but glue 
» ;. the natural acorn-top to 
the silk nut. Fasten to 
each article a strip of 
ribbon, or silk braid, 
half a yard in length ; 
join these at the top 
with a bow, and sew 
a large safety-pin on 
the under side of this 
bow for the purpose 
of pinning the com- 



bined articles to the dress of the user. 


Rolling-pins of all sizes, from the toy pin of a 
few inches to the ordinary kitchen size, can be 


utilized for making key-racks. Gild and otherwise 
decorate the rolling-pin ; insert brass hooks at 
regular intervals and suspend by bright ribbons. 




The bars of music may be drawn on the gilding 
with pen and ink; if the verse is not desired, cover 

the body of 
ribbons used. 
Another racl 

the pin with plush to match the 

• be made in imitation of a pad- 
lock, as in the engraving. 
Outline a padlock six and 
a half inches long by four 
and a half wide, on a well- 
smoothed, half-inch pine 
board. After sawing this 
into shape, cut a piece of 
pasteboard a trifle larger 
than the face of the wooden 
padlock, and cover it with 
plush ; tack it tempora- 
rily to the wood until 


the brass hooks are 
screwed in place, then 
draw out the tacks, cut 
a blank key-hole from 
white paper, gild it and 
glue it in place, gild the 
handle of the padlock, 
and decorate with a 
bow of satin ribbon 
to match the plush. 
These key-racks can 
be hung on any peg 
or nail within easy 
reach, and are often 
a real convenience to 
the owner. 



ing side ; use white 
wigan to interline it, 
and thin silk for the 
real lining ; turn in 
the edges and over- 
hand the sides to- 
gether. Insert a 
small pocket in the 
upper right-hand 
corner for the order 
of dancing; trim 
both pockets with 
soft lace. Let the 
bow at the bottom 
and ribbon at the top 
match in color and 
material ; paint a 

to be woni with a party 
dress, and in which the 
handkerchief and order 
of dancing may be 
placed, should be made 
of white satin, or of any 
material to match the dress. 
so that it measures six inches 
and eight and a half inches on 


spray of flowers 
above the bow, or 
use either natu- 
ral or artificial 
ones ; accom- 
pany the gift 
with a little fancy 
pin, for fasten- 
ing it to the 

Several articles 

' _ J ^ffr i'''^ T!^3='':S if>-ffgSg^':^?,--. v 
roJriE oJx of _T' r*; LAND/^T^l -T^gWy^^ 



Fold the goods more elaborate than those 

across the top ; here shown, and yet not too elaborate for home 

largest or slant- manufacture, may be seen in any fancy store. 

i88 5 . 


6 9 


By Palmer Cox. 

One evening Brownies, peeping down 
From bluffs that overlooked the town, 
Saw wheelmen passing to and fro 
Upon the boulevard below. 
"It seems," said one, "an easy trick. 
The wheel goes 'round so smooth and quick 
You simply sit and work your feet 
And glide with grace along the street ; 
The pleasure would be fine indeed 
If we could thus in line proceed. 

"Last night," another answer made, 
" As by the river's bank I strayed, 

Where here and there a building stands, 
And town and country-side join hands, 
Before me stood a massive wall 
With engine-rooms and chimneys tall. 
To scale the place a way I found, 
And, creeping in, looked all around; 
There bicycles of every grade 
Are manufactured for the trade ; 
Some made for baby hands to guide, 
And some for older folk to ride. 

Though built to keep intruders out, 
With shutters thick and casings stout, 
I noticed twenty ways or more, 
By roof, by window, wall and door, 

Where w-e, by exercising skill, 
May travel in and out at will." 

Another spoke, in nowise slow- 
To catch at pleasures as they go, 
And said, "Why let another day 
Come creeping in to drag away? 
Let's active measures now employ 
To seize at once the promised joy. 
On bicycles quick let us ride, 
While yet our wants may be supplied." 
So when the town grew hushed and still, 
The Brownies ventured down the hill, 
And soon the band was drawing nigh 
The building with the chimneys high. 




When people lock their doors at night, 
And double-bolt them left and right, 
And think through patents, new and old, 
To leave the burglars in the cold, 
The cunning Brownies smile to see 
The springing bolt and turning key; 
For well they know if fancy leads 
Their band to venture daring deeds, 
The miser's gold, the merchant's ware 
To them is open as the air. 

Not long could door or windows stand 
Fast locked before the Brownie band ; 
And soon the bicycles they sought 
From every room and bench were brought 
The rogues ere long began to show 
As many colors as the bow ; 

But whether red or green or blue, 
The work on hand was hurried through ; 
They took the wheels from blacksmith fires, 
Though wanting bolts and even tires, 
And rigged them up with skill and speed 
To answer well their pressing need. 
And soon, enough were made complete 
To give the greater part a seat, 

For paint and varnish lately spread 
Besmeared them all from foot to head. 
Some turned to jay-birds in a minute, 
And some as quick might shame the linnet ; 
While more with crimson-tinted breast 
Seemed fitted for the robin's nest. 

And let the rest through cunning find 

Some way of hanging on behind. 

And then no spurt along the road, 

Or 'round the yard, their courage showed, 

But twenty times a measured mile 

They whirled away in single file. 



Or bunched together in a crowd 

If width of road or skill allowed. 

At times, while rolling down the grade, 

Collisions some confusion made, 

For every member of the band. 

At steering wished to try his hand ; 

Until the turning-point was won. 

Then back they wheeled with every spoke. 

An hour before the thrush awoke. 

When next the morning whistle blew 
For men their labors to renew, 

Though some, perhaps, were not designed 
For labor of that special kind. 

But Brownies are the ones to bear 

Misfortunes with unruffled air ; 

So on through rough and smooth they spun 

The foreman looked at this and that, 
And freely blamed the watchman, Pat, 
Who must have been asleep in bed 
While such performance went ahead ; 
But neither foreman, "boss," nor "hand," 
Once thought about the Brownie band. 





Here we are again, my merry friends, but where 
do we find ourselves ? Where, but face to face 
with November, — to my mind the most trying 
child of all the year's twelve. 

You see November is j ust like some of you youn g 
chaps who are too old to go with boys and too 
young to go with men. You feel queer and out 
of place, in spite of yourselves. So does November. 
He is not quite strong enough for winter and he 
has too much " go" in him for autumn. He scorns 
to be warm, and he is afraid to be cold. His very 
name shows his contrary state of mind. He 's 
no vember ! You just try to be no vember, and see 
where you find yourself, — especially if you are not 
quite sure what a "vember" is. 

And right here comes the point of my discourse. 
I want you to help this poor troubled fellow. Be 
patient with him. Put all the cheer into him you 
can, and be kind, generous, gracious, and jolly, 
so as to make every one at home say : " Why, what 
a delightful, pleasant month November is ! — 
charming indoors and out ! " 

And now let us hear from our friend, S. B. H., 
who knows all about those 


Bergen Point, N. J 

Dear Jack: Many different appearances are seen in the night- 
sky, and called lunar rainbows, which come from various causes. 
A lunar rainbow is like a solar rainbow, only paler, and more color- 
less. The rainbow is such a curve that if it were carried out it 
would make a perfect circle. Now, as a fact too difficult to explain 
here, the center of this circle, the eye of the observer and the moon 
must lie in a straight line, the bow on one side of the heavens, where 
rain is falling, the moon on the other, and the observer between. 
Now, Jack, you can never see a bow which is more than half a 
circle, because the line running from the moon and through your 
pulpit cannot strike higher than the horizon, so only half the circle 
can be above the horizon. A rainbow was once seen from a balloon, 
so high up as to show the whole circular bow. 

A triangular prism of glass bends aside the light that falls through 

it. Ordinary light, you know, is made up of blue and green and 
yellow and red light, and all sorts of between shades. The prism 
not only bends the ray of light, but it bends the blue part most, the 
green next, the yellow next, and the red least; so that if we catch the 
ray on a piece of paper, after it has come through the prism we shall 
have, not the one little white ray that went in, but a band of colors 
— blue, green, yellow, and red. Rain drops, ice crystals, and even 
fog, have the same power as the prism. 

In a rainbow, a part of the rays from the moon, besides being bent 
aside, as they enter the rain drops, are bent back from the farther 
side and spread out into color. 

A fog-bow, like a rainbow, is on the opposite side of the sky from 
the sun or moon. Mr. Whymper, an Alpine tourist, tells of a won- 
derful fog-bow he once saw. He, with four companions, had been 
climbing over the ice-fields. Suddenly all four were lost down one 
of the fathomless ice-clefts, and he was alone in the awful solitude. 
He looked up to the sky, and there a great bow spanned the heavens, 
and within it were two large white crosses. 

The bows described in the childrens' letters are not lunar bows, but 
the whole or parts of halos or coronas around the moon. Such circles 
are caused by the light's coming to the eye through prisms of ice or 
fog, the light is bad aside or refracted, and spread out by the ice or 
the fog, but not bent back or reflected, as by the rain drops in tile 
case of the rainbow. In a halo the light comes through ice-crys- 
tals ; these are commoner in winter, and in the far north. In a 
corona it comes through fog ; these are more frequent in our climate. 
A halo you can tell from a corona, because the innermost color of the 
ring is red, while in the corona it is blue. Your readers can make 
a little corona for themselves by sprinkling some lycopodium powder 
on a piece of glass, and looking through it at a light. 

The rings R. L. F. saw around the sun were halos ; the "sun-dogs " 
or "mock-suns" were parts of halos, caused by a very peculiar condi- 
tion of the ice-crystals, which makes only round spots in certain parts 
of a halo visible. I think he must have made a mistake as to the 
time of day when he saw them. 

The full explanation of all these curious bows and spots can be 
made, and worked out like an example in arithmetic, but it is too 
difficult to be given in a few simple words. Yours truly, 

S. B. H. 


One of my young friends, — a city boy who 
spends his summer on a fine farm among the Cats- 
kills, — sends a picking from a curious chestnut- 
tree in the village of Free- 
hold, N. Y., not far 
from Bagley Farm. 
It is a chestnut 
without burrs. 
The dark-brown 
nuts that are 
so sweet to 
the taste and 
are usually 
kept so se- 

~ cure in 

the prickly 

husk until 

Jack Frost 

, and bursts 

in this 

H awl e y 

jether in 

four, and 

furze; no 


•v\*- a good 


as if they 

shakes them down 

into their prison cell, 

specimen that Amos 

sends are huddled to- 

bunches of three or 

covered only with a soft 

burr or husk ever envelops 

Amos says. The nuts grow to 

size, ripen, and renew themselves 

year, and are as good to eat 

had been encased all summer in the warm, prickly 

jacket that their brothers always wear. Does any- 

i88 5 .. 

J A C K - I N - T H E - P U L P I T 


body else know of a chestnut-tree without burrs ? 
Amos says the farmers tell him it is the only one 
known in that region, and they re- 
gard the tree with its burrless nuts 
as quite a curiosity. 

While we are upon this subject, 
here is a letter describing anoth- 
er oddity in plant-life,— in fact 
a genuine 


another that there is not more than an inch of space between any two, 
and the little copper-skinned native often pricks his fingers badly 
while gathering the sharp needles. 

When they have collected a large quantity, they carry them home, 
and the mother hangs them on lines in front of the low adobe hut. 
After a few hours' exposure to the sun, the juice dries out, and the 
needles and threads are ready for use. 

"At the railroad stations near Monterey," says my friend, "I 
saw an interesting sight. On the floor were piles of cloth made from 
the coarser fibers of the Maguey and woven in a loom of simplest 
device, similar to that in which the Chinese manufacture their 

" Here, in his leather costume, sat an Indian, folding bags in which 

pecan-nuts are exported to New York and other cities. 

_— — ^ Scattered around him were scores of these natural nee- 

BH^. dies. He used them to join three sides of the bag with 

l iWk a sort of cross-stitch. They were then filled with the 

jgj^ nuts, and closed at the top with a twine twisted 

from the same fiber." 

How many vexations a little Mexican girl 
may be spared in making her doll's wardrobe 
by the use of this slender, eyeless needle, "not 
hard to pull through," and a thread that never 
comes out, because it has grown there, and will 
never twist nor get into a snarl ! Kind Nature 
has supplied this half-civilized people, who are 
not ingenious enough to invent intricate machin- 
ery to produce these articles, with a needle that 
never breaks, already filled with many threads. 

Dear Jack : A friend of mine who 

was traveling in Mexico not long since, > __ 

says that across the Rio Grande where 
the Maguey-plant, shown in the accom- 
panying picture, grows wild, it is called the 
" needle-and-thread plant." The Indian boys 

search for it and, on finding one with dark-brown thorns, they grasp 
the thickened end, and, with a quick jerk, pull out the spines, or 
.needles, wilh their sinewy fibers, or threads, attached. 

In some varieties, these woody thorns crowd so closely upon one 

< >ue of the most curious uses of this thread is the making of a 
_ hair-brush from it. The shape of the brush is like that of a 
curtain-tassel, and it is made from the fibers doubled over and 
tied around with a twine. Once a week the squaw has the 
task of combing her husband's long raven locks with this brush. 
She sits on a rude bench, her spouse at her feet, while she hum- 
bly performs this household duty. He then returns her kindness 
and carefully smooths her glossy hair.— Your friend. 

A. "U\ \V. 





Our New Cover. 

We hope St. Nicholas will not seem like a stranger to you 
because it comes this month in a new and shining dress. Indeed, 
it should seem more familiar, — more like an old friend than ever, — 
because its new garb is so becoming and so beautifully symbolizes 
the spirit and the purpose of the magazine. 

The cover which appears fur the first time this month was de- 
signed by Mr. Sidney L. Smith, who was for some time associated 
with the La Farge Decorative Art Company of New York City. 
The beauty of the drawing speaks for itself, and can hardly fail to 
give pleasure and satisfaction. But it would be wrong to regard the 
design as a mere piece of decoration. The view through the grace- 
ful archway suggests the youthful outlook upon the world of nature 
and civilization ; — and the morning of life is further symbolized by 
the sunrise, in which Apollo, who, in the old mythologies, was the 

gud uf youth and music and light, is driving the chariot of the sun. 
In the upper right-hand corner, a little winged figure with a horn 
of plenty may well represent the unceasing abundance of stories, 
sketches, and verses that St. Nicholas offers to its readers; and 
in the opposite corner, three similar figures display the book and 
the palette {the seal of The Century Co.), which stand for the 
work of author and artist combined. The same idea is suggested 
by the scroll and the pen and crayon in the lower right-hand corner, 
and that part has also a special interest because, in the little circle 
there shown, there i ? to appear, each month, the sign of the Zodiac 
for that month. This time, we have Sagittarius, the Archer — which 
is the sign of the Zodiac for November; next month it will be 
Capricorn us, the Goat; for January, Aquarius, the Water-carrier ; 
and thus on the cover, month by month, you can find the succession 
of the twelve signs that in old times symbolized the circuit of the 


Canton, N. Y., July 31, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Will not Lieutenant Schwatka kindly tell 
the many readers of his interesting papers, how the weight of the 
roof of an Eskimo igloo is sustained ? Do the native builders under- 
stand the principles of the arch and vaulted dome and employ them 
in shaping and piling their snow bricks, or are the blocks of snow 
simply frozen together? Many a boy in our north country has tried 
to make a snow hut like those in the pictures, not always with suc- 
cess, and we should like to know just how it is done. 

Yours truly, NELSON L. ROBINSON. 

The roof of an Eskimo igloo is like the half of an egg-shell, it 
being impossible to say where the walls cease and the roof begins. 
Not only does this perfect dome sustain its own weight of six or 
eight inches of building snow (in the snow-blocks), but it can sus- 
tain, besides, two or three feet of loose snow, and the additional 
weight, even, of two or three people working on the roof. That the 
native builders understand thoroughly and practically the principles 
of the arch and dome is proven by their perfect construction of 
domed igloos, and by their making the dome more pointed in the 
fall and spring (when the snow is weaker and more liable to tumble 
in), and flatter in the winter, when the material is good. In any 
other shape than that of a dome the igloo would not hold together 
for a minute, as the blocks are not frozen together, at least until a 
day or two after the igloo is completed. 

One of the reasons why boys fail in building snow houses in our 
country is because the snow is not of the proper consistency. The 
thermometer must have been down to 40 F. , and several gales must 
have "packed" the snow before even an Eskimo would use it. In 
fact, until the snow is of proper consistency the igloos are built of 
ice, as explained in the September St. Nicholas. There would be 
very few days in the year in the coldest parts of the United States 
when even an Eskimo could build a good igloo. And then, too, 
even if everything were favorable, ig'oo-bm\ding is an intricate art, 
and until the boys here can show a sealskin diploma or shall have 
graduated at a cold-weather kindergarten in the Arctic, they can 
hardly hope to be successful. Frederick: Schwatka. 

Dear St. Nicholas ; There is a game that young folks can play 
which consists in letting one person describe a thing without naming 
it, and asking the others to guess what it is. Here is an instance ; 

I am the child of the night and the child of the day. Some 
dread me, some hate me, some find me a good companion. I have 
walked for many a mile, but no one ever heard my footfalls. Some- 
times my master sends me on before him; but, as be travels as 
quickly as I do, be sends me back, sometimes, and I have to follow 
in the rear. It is impossible to estimate my exact height. Nobody 
has ever looked into my eyes ; nobody has ever incurred my anger. 
1 sometimes in my haste run over people, and am sometimes tram- 

pled under foot by them. When my master writes, I always hold 
a pen by his side, and when he shaves I generally take a razor, too. 
1 have traveled a great deal, and am very old. When Adam walked 
in Eden, I, too, was there ; and when any new member of Parlia- 
ment goes to the House of Commons, I nearly always accompany 
him. Robinson Crusoe was disturbed by my approach when I vis- 
ited him on the island of Juan Fernandez. Although I have no eyes, I 
could not live without light. I am of very active habits, although I 
have not the will or ability to move. Tell me my name. 
The answer is, "A Man's Shadow." 

Yours truly, Lulu M. B , Webster, Mass. 

Written by a Little Girl. 

" Oh, dear ! " sighed Patty, as she sat beside the window looking 
out on the dull, wet street, " other girls have Thanksgiving dinners, 
with turkey and plum pudding, and mince pies and alt sorts of 
things. I wish I could. So! " 

Her book went down on the floor with a bang, and she sat for a 
long time with her head in her hands, thinking. 

Patty lived in a shabby little house, a little way out of the city. 
Her father and mother were poor, and had four other children besides 
Patty, so that Patty could not have a great many things that she 
wished, and the two things that she wished most just now were a 
Thanksgiving dinner and a wax doll. 

" I guess I will go out for a little while; there is nothing else to 
do," said Patty, at length, getting slowly out of her ch:iir and picking 
up her book. 

" I wish a big turkey and a plum pudding would drop down from 
the sky; but I am selfish to wish for a big dinner when I know 
father and mother can't afford it. And the children need a great many 
things; so I will try to give up cheerfully," and Patty sighed, for 
she had looked forward for a long while to the good time they were 
going to have at Thanksgiving, and it was a great disappointment 
to her that they could not have it after all. 

She put on her hi lod and cloak, and went out into the street. She 
soon reached the city, and straightway forgot everything else in her 
pleasure at looking at a group of dolls all dressed up as ladies and 
gentlemen, grandmas, children and babies, seated around a Thanks- 
giving dinner-table, which was covered with good things. 

Just then a little hand slipped into hers, and a little ynice said : 

•' Will 00 peas lif me up so me tan see de pitty dollies .' " 

Patty looked down in surprise, for standing beside her on the 
sidewalk was a little boy of about three years old. He had light 
curly hair and dark brown eyes, and was dressed in a coat and cap 
of gray fur, with velvet gaiters, and shiny new rubbers. She 
stooped down and lifted him up so he could see. 

" Did you come here all alone. Where is your mamma ? " asked 

" My mamma is at home. I tummed all by myself to sec de pitty 
dollies. I tood n't wait for nursy," explained the little fellow. 



"Where is nursy? " asked Patty. 

" I dess see's dom to walk," answered the baby, with his eyes fixed 
on a very fine doll at the end of the table. 

"Where do you live? " asked Patty again. 

" I lives wiv my papa," he answered, with his eyes .still on the 

•' But where does he live? " inquired Patty, finding it rather hard 
to get any information from the little boy. 

" He lives wiv me, and my name is Harry, an* his name is 
Papa," said Harry, and seeing she could not get anything from 
him, Patty put him down on his feet, and taking his hand, led him 
down the street. 

" I 'se tired and I want to doe home," he wailed at last, when 
they had gone a little way. 

" Harry, be a good boy and don't cry, and I '11 take you home as 
soon as I can," said Patty, gathering the little fellow up in her arms 
and wiping away the tears that were beginning to fill the large brown 
eyes. " We will go into this drug store and perhaps the man will 
know where you live." The man was very kind, but had never 
seen the little boy before. He asked him a great many questions, 
just as Patty had done, but could get no better answers than she 
had received. 

"I wants my minings, my han's is cold," said Harry; "they 
are in mine potet." 

As Patty drew out the little red mittens, she felt a piece of paper, 
She drew it quickly out and, opening it, she saw these words: 
"Harry Harding, No. 164 Blank street." 

How joyfully Patty read that piece of paper ! — Thanking the 
man, she hurried across the public square, only stopping a few min- 
utes to let Harry look at the boys and girls skating. She had not 
much trouble in finding the house, which was one of the largest 
on the street, a stately brick house with wide stone steps leading up 
to the door. She went up the steps, feeling as if a load was off her 
mind, and rang the bell. 

It was opened directly by a servant, who looked very stiff and 
pompous; but the moment he caught sight of Harry all his stiffness 
vanished, as he threw his hands over his head, shouting wildly, 
*' He 's found, mum ! he 's found, mum ! it's Master Harry himself, 
mum; come quick, mum ! ! " and he set off at a very fast walk to a 
door at the end of the hall. Before he could get to it, however, a 
door opened, and in another moment Harry was in his mother's 
arms. At the servant's outcry the whole family came running to the 
spot. They were just going out again to search for the little 
wanderer. But all wraps were laid aside now, and sitting by a 
cheerful fire in the large parlor, Patty told her story. And at last 
she found herself riding home in a fine carriage with Mr. and 
Mrs. Harding, who could not thank Patty enough for what she had 
done for them. 

Two days before Thanksgiving a large carriage drove up to the 
Robbins' door, from which was taken a great hamper of good things 
from the Hardings. The man put a long box into Mrs. Robbins' 
hands, into which she peeped, and with a smile at Patty she whisked 
it into the closet, and helped her daughter unpack the hamper. 
Patty kept giving little screams of delight as one thing after another 
was taken out of that hamper. First came a large turkey, with a 
great many vegetables ; then a loaf of frosted cake and a plum 
pudding in a bag ; and last, some mince and apple pies, and oranges 
and nuts and raisins. 

"Mother, let's not tell the children, but have it for a surprise," 
cried Patty, when at last the hamper was empty. 

" So we will, Patty!" said Mrs. Robbins; " it will be a great sur- 
prise to them all." 

So on Thanksgiving morning Patty and her mother went to work 
and set the table and cooked the turkey and vegetables. When 
Patty came to the table with the rest, she was as much surprised as 
anybody, for at her place was the long box that had been given to 
her mother. 

Opening it, she saw a lovely wax doll, and on a card were the 
words, " For Patty Robbins, from her grateful little friend, Harry 

And I think in all the city there was not a happier little girl than 
Patty, as with her doll in her arms she watched her father carve the 
Thanksgiving turkey. 

In answer to the question which we asked of Oscar Treadwell in 
the August Letter-Box, as to the definition of "scrap cat," he 
writes : 

Glenbrook, Cal. 

Dear St. Nicholas: A " scrap cat " is one made out of paper to 
put in a scrap-book. I send my love. Oscar Treadwell. 

A friend of St. Nicholas sends this picture as a timely offering 
to the November Letter-Box. 

Dear St. Nicholas: One question that I would like to ask is, 
how, in Miss Alcott's "Spinning-wheel" story about the lunch- 
party, eight girls could partake of one mince pie so freely as to cause 
any of them to have bad dreams. For my part, it does not trouble 
me to eat a quarter or even a half a pie, and our pies are not all 
crust and no fruit, either. . . . 

_ If my letter is too long, please cut out any part but that about the 
pie. Yours truly, Adda W 


Portland, Me., 1885. 

Dear St Nicholas: Although I have taken you nearly six 
years, I have never before written a letter to you. I suppose you 
will think what I am going to write is very strange for a girl of six- 
teen years to think about. It is of my strange love for fire-arms, 
machinery, swords, boats, and the sea, that I wish to tell you. 

Ever since I was a little mite of a girl I have been very fond of the 
sea. I like to go to the beach and watch the waves as they roll up 
on the beach or break against the rocks. I am never sea-sick, 
and enjoy a sail out of sight of land better than I do among the 
islands of Casco Bay. 

A boat of any kind was always my delight, from a saucy little 
tug-boat to a stately ship : and living so near the water, I see all kinds. 
They seem like living things to me. There is one steamer that is 
my especial pet, and that is the steamer " Tremont," which runs 
between Portland and Boston. Every visitor we have I take down 
t<-» see the " Tremont." 

When I was quite small, I used to go with my sister down to the 
depot and watch the trains as they went back and forth The 
engine used to be a source of wonder and admiration to me. 

Whenever I hnld in mv hand an old sword, it thrills me as I think 
what stories it would tell if it could speak. There came into my 
possession, the other day, two swords, — one was taken away from a 
dying Confederate at the battle of Fredericksburg, and the other, a 
beautiful one, with a hilt of gold and ivory, and engravings on the 
blade, belonged to an officer in the war of 1812. 

When I have been over to Fort Preble, I have enjoyed looking at 
the immense cannons mounted on top of the fort, and the neat piles 
of cannon-balls by the side of each one. Everything at the fort is 
always in "apple-pie" order. 

There is one thing that I have always wished, and that is that I 
could have lived during the civil war, and have gone into the hos- 
pitals to help take care of the wounded soldiers. I would rather 
read stories of the civil war than any novel. I enjoyed reading 
" Recollections of a Drummer-Boy," which you published two years 
ago, very much, and I wish somebody else would write some more 
stories of the war for St. Nicholas. 

When I was very young I was very much afraid of the dark, but 

T HE A G A S S I Z A S S O C I A T I O N . 


if I carried my flag with me through the dark rooms, I felt that 
nothing could hurt me, and to this day I love the dear old flag of my 
country better than anything else in the world. 

Now, I have written about the things which are uppermost in my 
mind, and I hope you will not think they are too silly to print. 

Your interested reader, Lena E. R. 

Plainfield, June, 1885. 

Dear St. Nicholas: Your interesting and useful magazine con- 
siderably lightened one of my cares this month. My pupils are re- 
quired to write a letter before receiving their promotion, and I have 
hitherto found it a trying ordeal for us both. 

The idea occurred to me this year to suggest that they all write 
a letter to St. Nicholas, whose monthly visits to our class-room 
had been so eagerly looked for. I promised to send the most inter- 
esting to you for publication, and I was delighted to see them be- 
gin their work without one grumbling word. I found difficulty 
in selecting from twelve, but I forward to you two that seemed to be 
best suited for publication. 

I hope you will find room for them, and reward forty-five anxious 
boys and girls, who will watch the Letter-box, and be almost as de- 
lighted to see the work of their class-mates in print as they would be 
at sight of their own. Yours truly, 

C. A., Public School, Plainfield, N. J. 

No. I. 

Plainfield, N. J., June, 1885. 

Dear St. Nicholas: At the beginning of school last year, the 
scholars in each class commenced to save up money to buy a pic- 
ture. The money that we would have spent for candy, we saved 
and brought to the teacher, until we had enough to buy the picture. 
Our picture is George Washington. It is about two feet by three. 
In the corner of the room we have a cabinet, which the scholars have 
bought in the same way. We have some rare specimens in it. It 
has four shelves, and all of them are full of specimens. 

The principal of our school takes different papers and magazines 
for every class, for the scholars to read. Our magazine is St. Nicho- 
las, and this is the way I get it to read 

Our teacher is very much interested in flowers ; we bring them to 
her, and she presses them. We have seventeen different wild 
flowers pressed. Yours truly, J. A. S. 

No. II. 

Plainfield, N. J., June, 1885. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have been studying about flowers, and 
I think it is very interesting. I will describe how we found the dog- 
tooth violet. 

On the seventeenth of May, about six girls, myself included, went 
into the woods, and we came upon some very pretty yellow flowers, 
behind two large chestnut trees. We did not know what they were 
at first, but after we took a good look at the petals and stamens, we 
found that they were the dog-tooth violets. 

We have read the St. Nicholas every Friday, from September to 
May. I think it is very interesting. Your constant reader, 

S. S. Y. 

Hampton, Virginia, June 29, 1885. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have been taking you ever since Febru- 
ary-, and think you are just superb. 

I am not able to take you, but a kind friend of mine gives you to 
me every month, and I am just as happy as I can be when it comes. 
I hope you will put my letter in the Letter-Box; if you do I think I 
will be the happiest boy living. I hope you will never die, and that 
I can take you always. Your constant reader, Charlie B. 

We present our sincere thanks to the young friends whose names 
are given herewith, for the pleasant letters received from them : 

Louise M. Gehn, Constance Lodge, A. Stone, J. C. C, W. A. T., 
Esther M. V., Carrie Louise Walker, Julian A. Keeler, A. L. T., 
Mary B. Eyre, Mary Page Buskett, Daisy, Gertie, Charlie and 
Marion, Damie Bigger, Ruth, Ralph T. Hoyt, Kate M. Drew, H. 
F. Mayer, Helen Smith, John H. Easter, Ella L. G., Helen Perry, 
P. A. Baynes, T. J. Baynes, May Relay and Grace Foster, Mamie 
A. S-, Allie Duden, Annie and Harry Foster, Helen M., Ellinor 
D. Runcie, Celia Loeb, Laura and Grace, Lizzie Brinsmade, May 
L., Daisy R., M. H. and L. A., L. V. Price, Fred G., E. V. D., 
Louise B. Cluett, Jennie M. Woodruff, Maggie Clarke, Tom C, 
Kittie L., Eugene Heald, M. Y. Demerick, Edith Houghton, Sam- 
mie Noyes, Florence Derby, Rodney E. Derby, Kingsley S., Phil 
Carr, F. S., Marion Roberta Stuart, Mollie Orr, Bessie G. Brand, 
Frederick Dabney Miller, Kihaen Van Rensselaer, Audrey A., 
Effie A. C, Pierre Brown Mitchell, Elizabeth S., Lilian B. A., 
James A. Hayne, Polly, Anna, Lucy, Isabella and Jenny, Laura 
W. , Archer Dana Baker. 

Five years ago the plan of the Agassiz Association was first laid 
before the readers of the St. Nicholas, and since then Chapters, or 
local branches, have been organized to the number of 8S6, and more 
than 9500 members have been enrolled. The Chapters now stand- 
ing on our roll are distributed as follows : 

Arkansas 1 Illinois . 

California 24 Indiana . . 

Colorado 8 Iowa . . . 

Connecticut 27 Kansas . 

Dist. of Columbia. 5 Kentucky 

Dakota 3 Louisiana 

Delaware .... 

49 Massachusetts. ... 91 

28 Michigan 19 

18 Minnesota ir 

11 Mississippi 3 

6 Missouri . . . . iz 
Montana . 

4 Maine 13 Nebraska 

4 Maryland 13 New Hampshire 

New lersey 38 Rhode Island. . 

New York , ,.". .128 South Carolina 
New Mexico 1 Tennessee 

Nevada . 
North Carolina. 

1 Texas . 
, Utah . 

Ohio 41 Vermont . 

9 West Virginia. ... 1 
3 Wisconsin 27 


8 Canada 5 

t Chili 1 

10 England 6 

5 Japan 1 

2 Scotland 2 

Total 743 

Some of the weaker Chapters have disbanded, and others have 
banded together, making one strong branch out of two or three 
small ones. 

Oregon . 

1 Virginia .... 
80 Washington T'y. 



History of the A. A. 

It would seem appropriate, in this initial number of a new volume, 
to give a brief history of our Association, and an explanation of 
our purposes and methods, for the benefit of the large number of new 
friends who now begin to take St. Nicholas. 

A very few words must suffice: The Agassiz Association is a 
society for the encouragement of the personal observation of Nature. 
It is freely open to all, old and young. About one-fourth of our 
membership is adult. Among the branches of study pursued, are 
botany, mineralogy, entomology, zoology, ornithology, conchology, 
microscopy, oology, chemistry, archaeology, ethnology, and physi- 
ology. Each Chapter is at liberty to choose whatever branch it 
may prefer. The smallest number recognized as a Class, or Chapter, 
is four. Individuals can join the Association on application to the 
president. Specialists have very generously volunteered their serv- 
ices in the several departments. These gentlemen freely answer any 
questions in their line, and from time to time conduct special classes 
through regular courses of observation and study. All who satisfac- 
torily complete these courses receive properly indorsed certificates. 
A complete and detailed account of the Association may be gained 
by consulting back numbers of St. Nicholas since October, 1880, 
especially the November issue of each year. For the convenience 
of those interested, the president has prepared a small volume of 
something over one hundred pages, known as the 

Hand-Book of the A. A. 

This book was made in this way: For two years a record was 
kept of all important questions submitted to the president. These 
questions were classified, and the carefully written answers constitute 
the book, which thus contains information on almost every imagina- 
ble point connected with the Association, and much regarding the 
several departments of study pursued by us. 

A New Plan. 

With the beginning of another year, we have a very important 
though simple change to propose to all our Chapters, to which the 
careful attention of every member is now earnestly invited. After 
mature deliberation, we are convinced that if all the Chapters give 
their cordial cooperation, the new plan will add much to the inter- 
est of our society, the character of our work, and the extension of our 

We refer to the manner of sending in Chapter reports. Hitherto 
there has been no uniformity. Each Chapter has been expected to 
send a report once in two months, but the number of Chapters is so 
great that it has been found impracticable to keep exact account of the 
day when each report falls due. It has also been out of the question 
to send reminders to tardy secretaries or to acknowledge in every 
case the receipt of punctual reports. As to publishing extracts from 
all the reports received, when we consider that we can not use more 
than twenty or twenty-five a month in this magazine, it becomes ev- 
ident that thirty-nine-fortieths of our material has to belaid aside, to 
the disappointment of the faithful secretaries and the unmentioned 
Chapters. Now, to remedy all these troubles we propose to divide 
the whole Association into hundreds, or centuries. Chapters 1 to 
100 inclusive will constitute the first century; Ch. 101-200, the sec- 
ond century, and so on. 

Then we shall assign to each century a special month, during the 
first week of which we shall expect from each Chapter in that cen- 
tury a carefully prepared annual report. All these reports will be 
acknowledged in the second succeeding issue of the St. Nicholas, 
and such extracts therefrom will be published as may seem of gen- 
eral interest. 


That there may be no mistake, we will now make the following 

Every Chapter from No. 1 to No. 100 will please send an annual re- 
port to the president, which must reach him not later than January 7, 
1886. That is, the first one hundred Chapters, or theJSrst century, will 
report in the Jirst month. That can not be forgotten. The sec- 
ond century will report in the second month, their reports being due 
before February 7; and soon until the sixth month, the sixth century 
reporting in the first week of June. 

Then we shall omit two months, July and August, as those are 
vacation months, and no annual reports need he sent then. The 
seventh century will report in Se/>te/n-ber, the eighth in Octo-ber, 
etc.; those also being readily remembered from the Sefitcm, Octo, 

It is not intended that these special annual reports shall prevent 
Chapters from writing and reporting at other times also. We are 
always glad to hear from our friends, and shall be glad to have all 
continue their bi-monthly reports as hitherto, but we will agree re- 
garding the appointed annual reports, that they shall each and all 
be regularly acknowledged in St. Nicholas. More than this, we 
shall keep them all on file. We have had ten boxes made and care- 
fully indexed, one for each of our one hundred Chapters. Each is 
labeled also with the name of the month when the reports to be kept 

in it are due, so that we shall be able to tell at a glance precisely 
which Chapters are punctual and which are dilatory. 

To illustrate still further, suppose you are secretary of Chapter No. 
456. When is your report due ? The Chapter is in the fifth cen- 
tury ; the report is therefore due the first week in the fifth month, or by 
May 7th. If duly received, it will be acknowledged in St. Nicholas 
for July, and will also be kept permanently on file. 

The advantages of this new plan will be: 

ist. Increased care and fullness in the preparation of reports. 

2d. Greater regularity in making returns. 

3d. Assurance that all reports will be mentioned in St. Nich- 

4th. Assurance that all reports will be kept. 


In order to insure the complete success of the plan, it will be ne- 
cessary to observe carefully a few simple directions: 

ist. Remember your month, and begin the preparation of your 
report at least two weeks before it falls due. 

2d. Use paper of commercial note size, and write on only one side 
of the sheet. 

3d. Put the number of your Chapter and your full address at the 
beginning of your report, just as we print them. 

4th. Send requests for exchange "Notes" and personal letters on 
pieces of paper distinct from your reports and from one another. We 
file them in separate cases. 

5th. Inclose postage if you wish a personal answer. 

6th. Make your report as complete and interesting as possible. 
It is your annual opportunity to tell the Association what you are 

An Invitation. 

And now we once more extend to all, old and young, a hearty 
invitation to join the Association, free of all expense. There is no 
entrance fee, and there are no " dues." There are a very few States 
still unrepresented among us. Who will be first to organize the first 
Chapters there ? 


289, Longpori, N. J. Our Chapter, originally organized and 
known as Cambria Station, Pa. (A ), has permanently removed to 
this place. We have done good seaside work this year. We have 
thirty-six active members, consisting of both scientists and ama- 
teurs, with a considerable backing of honorary members. 

Our exercises embrace the answering of referred questions 
usually pertaining to familiar seaside objects, the discussion of a 
general subject, voluntary observations and microscopic exam- 

This plan of working draws out much original thought, and we 
have made some discoveries not yet embodied in books. 

" The porpoise." " The effect of the seasons on shells," and " The 
conch family " are among our subjects of general discussion recently 

We find these seaside studies are vast, improving, and outreach- 
ing. Even the common, homely things along the beach are vested 
with new interest. Our youngest members are delighted to collect 
odd specimens for the meetings. 

If we can give inland or other Chapters any information in regard 
to our specialty, 289 is always yours to command. — Mrs. S. L. 
Oberholtzer, Pres. ; Ellis P. Oberholtzer, Sec. 

761, Palerson, N. J. (A). All the members are very enthusiastic 
over the work, and, moreover, their enthusiasm seems to increase with 
each meeting. 

We have a cabinet, and about seventy specimens. 

Several of the members have made excursions to the Museum of 
Natural History, Seventy-seventh street and Eighth Avenue, New 
York City. This building does not seem to be generally known, 
and I am sure there are many living near New York City who are 
in quest of just such a place. It is free to the public every day but 
Monday and Tuesday, and I think even then members of the A. A. 
would be admitted. We have a letter from Mr. Holder, Prof, of 
Marine Zoology, who is connected with the institution, saying he 
would be glad to know any of the members of the A. A., and they 
would be admitted at any time on presenting his name. There are 
many stuffed animals with their skeletons ; birds, birds' eggs and 
nests, insects; also a geological hall, in which are specimens of 
rocks, minerals, shells, etc. We found the Museum very instructive, 
as we could see there specimens it would be impossible for us to 
obtain ourselves. — H. C. Crosby, Sec. 

416, Racine, Wis. Chapter4i6 is still alive, but very feeble. The 
president and secretary are the only members, the same faithful two. 
There being only two of us, we have no regular meetings, but have 
impromptu ones very often. We have done a good deal of collecting 
this year in oology, geology, and general subjects. We are to reor- 
ganize and begin regular meetings again this fall. Four boys 
have promised to join us, two of them good botanists. Botanists 
will be quite an acquisition. We are to enter our collections in 
the Racine Industrial Society's Exposition this year, with a chance 
of $12 in premiums. John L. McCalman. 





Shells and minerals. — Miss Maude Lord. 75 Lamberton St., New 
Haven, Ct. 

Eggs in sets with data, for Cone's Field Ornithology, and Cone's 
Birds of the Nortfo-ivesi. — Oscar Clute, Jr., Iowa City, Iowa. 

Carnelian and calc-spar, for eggs. Send list. — Chas. Baker, St. 
Croix Falls, Wis. 

Chinese nuts and petrified wood from petrified forest of California, 
for minerals. — Geo. S. Eddy, Leavenworth, Kansas. 

Eggs, insects, and fine fossils, for same. — Harry McMinn, 211 
North Thirteenth street, Richmond, Ind. 

Eggs blown through one small side-hole, and skins, for same. — 
I. Grafton Parker, jr., 3529 Grand Boulevard, Chicago, 111. fc 

Mounted specimens of Cicada Sejttendecim, and branches con- 
taining deposits of their eggs, for birds' eggs, or minerals — Willie 
Hu^g, 90 North Paca street, Baltimore, Md. 

"" specimens of aragonite, selenite, etc., for minerals. Corre- 

spondents wanted.- 

■ E. E. Amory, 3525 Grand Boulevard, Chicago, 

New Chapters. 


Austin, Texas (A). 

Davisburg, Mich. (A) 
Westboro, Ohio (A) . 
Dubuque, Iowa (B) 

No. of Members. Address. 

.....12. .Murray Toleman, cor. 

W. Hickory and Colorado Sts. 
. .(Address not fiimislud .' ) 
Homer G. Curies. 
James T. Carr, 1116 Locust St. 


236 Factory Pt., Vt. (A) .... 4. Jesse D. Nichols. 
670 Wright's Grove, 111. (A) .. 4..Myran H. M. Hunt. 
The address of the secretary of Chapter 10S is now 

Chas. W. Sprague, 2227 Wabash Avenue, Chicago. 

Address all communications for this department to the President, 
Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, 

Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 



. -:~ ::JJ^ 


I. My primals and finals each name an adjective often heard and 
read in November. 

Cross words (of unequal length) : 1. The capital of one of the 
Southern States. 2. A large lake. 3. A fine city of Germany. 
4. The city in which Raphael was born. 5. A group of islands in 
the Mediterranean. 6. A city of Pennsylvania. 7. One of the 
Ionian Islands. 8. A large arm of the North Sea. 9. A chain of 
mountains in Asia. 10. A town of France located on the Bayse. 

II. My primals name objects which beautify the landscape at this 
season, of the year; the finals name the more pronounced colors of 
the objects. 

Cross-words (of equal length) : 1. To affirm. 2. To instigate. 
3. To watch. 4. One of the bones of the arm. 5. Principal. 6. Ex- 
igency. 7. Slothful. 8. To relieve lrom pain. 9. A man's name. 
10. A thin covering, n. Therefore. 12. To pack away. 



Het liwd Nermbove secom ta slat 
Bathene a live fo nair ; 
Het hignt widn slobw tis dofls sadie, 
Ehr cafe si ullf fo napi. 

Het talest fo erh cear, hes stake 

Het Asutmun cavant neroth : 

Hes sha tub noe storh nomo ot veil, 

Dan hes stum vile noale. owen t. llovd. 

This puzzle is based upon one of the Mother Goose rhymes. The 
pictures represent the last word in each of the eight lines of the 
verse. What is the 1 


1. In America. 2. A river of France. 3. A river of Germany, 
a tributary of the Neckar. 4. The country in which Mount Ararat 
is situated. 5. The town in which the painter Guercino was born. 

6. The name bv which a large South American city is often called. 

7. In America. " alcibiades." 


Remove one word from another, and leave a complete word. Ex- 
ample : Take part of a church from breathed, and leave a color. 
Answer, re-spire-d. 

1. Take to mistake from a light boat used on rivers, and leave for 
what reason. 2. Take a number from omens, and leave havens. 

3. Take a large cask from to make musical, and leave consumed. 

4. Take a conjunction from stigmatized, and leave fostered. 

5. Take to be sick from lamenting, and leave the side of an army. 

6. Take the coarse part of hemp or flax from packing away closely, 
and leave to chant. 7. Take a girl's name from an instrument of 
warfare, and leave to study. 8. Take a domestic animal from 
frowned, and leave what every boy wants in winter. 9. Take astern 
from floated, and leave to marry. 10. Take a pronoun from bruised, 
and leave insane. 11. Take a Chinese plant from purloining, and 
leave to cast or throw. 12. Take a small winged animal from 
blunted, and leave a pike. 13. Take rage from desires eagerly, and 
leave poisonous serpents. 14. Take consumed from household gods, 
and leave small inclosures. 15. Take to inquire from exposed to 
genial heat, and leave part of a river. 

The removed words are all of the same length, and their central 
letters, when read downward, will name that which Thanksgiving 
brings with it. gilbert forest. 

j8s 5 .: 




In witless, but not in ; 

In naughty, but not in bad; 

In sandal, but not in shoe; 

In crimson, but nut in blue ; 

In barking, but not in howl ; 

In nestling, but not in fowl ; 

In shouting, but not in cheer; 

In lucid, but not in clear; 

In moving, but not in pause; 

In motive, but not in cause; 

In fennel, but not in bush ; 

In urging, but not in push. 

Con this well, and then remember 
Two pleasant times in each November. 



Reveal a Snarl, on Varied Ideas. 

The letters contained in the above sentence, when properly trans- 
posed into words of fire letters, will form the answer to the following 


i. To entangle, 2. Pertaining to ships. 3. To shun. 4. To exalt. 
5. Senior. r. L. F. 



From 1 to 9, a Swiss coin made of copper ; from 2 to 9, certain 
days in March : from 3 to 9, water serpents ; from 4 to 9, mis- 
chievous sprites; from 5 to 9, meadows; from 6 to 9, belonging to 
the goddess of revenge; from 7 to 9, certain kinds of drink; from 
8 to 9, blunders. 

Outer square (from 1 to 8), to pronounce with a hissing sound. 
Middle square (dots), an instrument attached to the wheel of a car- 
riage, to measure distance in traveling. Inner square (stars), the 
longestyear. " l. los regni." 

The answer to the rebus inclosed in the circle is one of Poor 
Richard's maxims. 


I AM composed of thirty-eight letters, and embody in a quotation 
from Benjamin Disraeli the same idea that is conveyed in the follow- 
ing quotation from Seneca: 

" Non convalescit planta, quae saepe transfertur." 
My 30-10-29 is a plaything. My Ti-38-16-1 are part of a table. 
My 35-26-15-3 is gait. My 21-2-36-7-33-20 is something which 
accompanies a Greek tragedy. My 18-25-8-32 is a stair. My 
9-13-23 is a large cask. My 4-28-22-27-14-5 is a helmet. My 
37-6-19-24-17-31-34-12 is a small cutting instrument. 



Buried Gulfs and Bays. i. Bonavista. 2. Fundy. 3. Boothia. 
4. Tampa. 5. Paria. 6. Panama. 7. Naples. S. Onega. 9. Venice. 
10. Donegal, it. Bengal. 12. Obe. 

1. C. 2. Sap. 3. Vapor. 4. Axile. 
II. 1. H. 2. Tag. 3. Bulls. 4. Idiot. 

Easy Transpositions. I. Spare, pares, pears, spear, parse, 
reaps. II. Mites, smite, items, emits, Times. 

Hexagons. Across : I, 
5. Noted. 6. Nod. 7. L. 

5. Nobby. 6. Rue. 7. T. 
Diamond, i. P. 2. Hog. 3. Caird. 4. Hansard. 

oak. 6. Grandly. 7. Droll. 8. Day. 9. K. 

Half-square, i. Carpet. 2. Ameer. 3. Rent. 4. Pet. 5. (H)er. 

6. T. Cross-word Enigma. Buttercup. 

Illustrated Numerical Enigma. Latin quotation : 

begs timidly courts a refusal." Quotation from Herrick ( 
fulness in Begging"): 

"To get thine ends, lay bashfulness aside; 
Who fears to ask doth teach to be denied 


' He who 
No Bash- 

Improvise. 3. Salt- 

Assai. 9. Pimento. 

from 1 

. Masora. 4. 
Averse. 3. 

Hour-glass. Across : 1. Directorial. 
ant. 4. Twist. 5. Ope. 6. R. 7. Pet. 
10. Extension, n. Recontinues. Centrals, Totipresent 
to 2, Distortions; from 3 to 4, letter-paper. 

Word-squares. I. 1. Remast. 2. Elater. 
5. Serene. 6. Trades. II. 1. Darter. : 
4. Trevat. 5. Estate. 6. Restem. 
Illustrated Puzzle. 

Hickory, dickory, dock ; 
The mouse ran up the clock 
The clock struck one, 
The mouse ran doivu, 
Hickory, dickory, dock. 


Answers should be 

The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which [he puzzles appear, 
addressed to St. Nicholas "Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth street, New York City. 

Answers to Puzzles in the August Number were received, too late for acknowledgment in the October number, from " CEdipus," 
13 — Bella and Cora Wehl, Frankfort, Germany, n. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 20, from " B. L. Z. Bub" — Maggie 
and May Turrill — San Anselmo Valley — "Betsey Trotwood " — Hugh and Cis — Fanny R. Jackson — Francis W. Islip. 

Answers to Puzzles in the September Number were received, before September 20, from Ned L, Mitchell, 1 — " Multum in 
Parvo," 2— Marguerite and Clifford,! — L. M, D., 2 — Rosy L. Witte, 2 — Erne K. Talboys, 7 — Avis and Grace Stanton Davenport, 
4 — Paul Reese, 7 — " Chingachgook," 2 — Jeannie M. Elliott, 7 — L Caroline Harding, r — Mary Adelaide Sloan, 5 — Alice S. Allen, 3 — 
"The Carters," io — Carrie C. Howard, 6 — Gertrude H., 1 — Katie, Jamie, and Mamma, 10 — Reggie and Nellie, q — J. H. S., 2 — 
Harry V. R. Livingston, 4 — " Whiskers," 1 — Miss A. B., 1 — Weston Stickney, 1 — " Pepper and Maria," 6 — F. D., 6 — Emma St. C. 
Whitney, 6 — Louise Lesene, 1 — Oscar and Charlie, 1 — " Family Efforts," 1 — Emma W., 1 — N. E. T., 2 — No Name, Rye, 5 — Har- 
rison Allen, Jr., 1 — H. E. H., 5 — Daisy and Mabel, 6 — Fred. A. Hamilton, 3 — Meg and Jo, 1 — Edith L. Young, 3 — Lillie and Ida 
Gibson, 7 — Applcton, H., S — The Family at Gmiinden, 8 — George Habenicht, 1 — Louise Joynes, 3 — Judith, S — Thomas W. Kim- 
ball, 4 — Ednah Golding, 3 — Laura Hollis Olmstead, 6 — Peggy, 1 — W. C. Selover, 9 — Maud and Katie Bradley, 6 — Katie R., 4 — 
Willie Tompkins, 1 — Joseph J. Collins, 4 — Charles P. T. Tuckerman, 7 — Addison K. Smith, 4 — "Ajax." 5 — Charlie Wilson, 4 — 
Willard K. Purdy, 4 — Eslelle Whiting, 7 — Mary S. E. , 1 — " Sheppard Family," 9 — I Gregory R. Shorey, 2 — Alice K. Burton, 6. 




» : Ih 

iii : imi 







Vol. XIII. DECEMBER, 1885. No. 2. 

[Copyright, 1885, by The CENTURY CO.] 


By Susan Coolidge. 

The Christmas-day was coming, the Christmas-eve drew near ; 
The fir-trees they were talking low, at midnight cold and clear. 
And this was what the fir-trees said, all in the pale moonlight : 
" Now, which of us shall chosen be to grace the Holy Night?" 

The tall trees and the goodly trees raised each a lofty head, 
In glad and secret confidence, though not a word they said. 
But one, the baby of the band, could not restrain a sigh : 
" You all will be approved," he said, "but oh, what chance have I? 

" I am so small, so very small, no one will mark or know 

How thick and green my needles are, how true my branches grow; 
Few toys or candles could I hold, but heart and will are free, 
And in my heart of hearts I know I am a Christmas-tree." 

The Christmas angel hovered near; he caught the grieving word, 
And laughing low he hurried forth, with love and pity stirred. 
He sought and found St. Nicholas, the dear old Christmas Saint, 
And in his fatherly kind ear rehearsed the fir-tree's plaint. 

Saints are all powerful, we know, so it befell that day 
That, axe on shoulder, to the grove a woodman took his way. 
One baby-girl he had at home, and he went forth to find 
A little tree as small as she, just suited to his mind. 

Oh, glad and proud the baby-fir, amid its brethren tall, 
To be thus chosen and singled out, the first among them all ! 
He stretched his fragrant branches, his little heart beat fast. 
He was a real Christmas-tree : he had his wish at last. 

One large and shining apple with cheeks of ruddy gold, 
Six tapers, and a tiny doll were all that he could hold. 
The baby laughed, the baby crowed to see the tapers bright; 
The forest baby felt the joy, and shared in the delight. 

And when at last the tapers died, and when the baby slept, 
The little fir in silent night a patient vigil kept. 

Though scorched and brown its needles were, it had no heart to grieve. 
'•'I have not lived in vain," he said. "Thank God for Christmas-eve!" 

Vol. XIII.— 6. 





By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

Chapter II. 

*HERE was never a 
more amazed lit- 
tle boy than Ce- 
dric during the 
week that fol- 
lowed ; there was 
never so strange 
or so unreal a 
week. In the first 
place, the story 
his mamma told 
him was a very 
curious one. He 
was obliged to 
hear it two or 
three times be- 
fore he could un- 
derstand it. He could 
not imagine what Mr. 
Hobbs would think 
of it. It began with 
earls ; his grandpapa, 
whom he had never seen, was an earl ; 
and his eldest uncle, if he had not 
been killed by a fall from his horse, 
would have been an earl, too, in time ; and after 
his death, his other uncle would have been an earl, 
if he had not died suddenly, in Rome, of a fever.. 
After that, his own papa, if he had lived, would 
have been an earl ; but since they all had died and 
only Cedric was left, it appeared that he was to be 
an earl after his grandpapa's death — and for the 
present he was Lord Fauntleroy. 

He turned quite pale when he was first told of it. 
" Oh ! Dearest ! " he said, " I should rather 
not be an earl. None of the boys are earls. Can't 
I not be one ? " 

But it seemed to be unavoidable. And when, 
that evening, they sat together by the open window 
looking out into the shabby street, he and his 
mother had a long talk about it. Cedric sat on his 
footstool, clasping one knee in his favorite attitude 
and wearing a bewildered little face rather red from 
the exertion of thinking. His grandfather had sent 
for him to come to England, and his mamma 
thought he must go. 

" Because," she said, looking out of the window 
with sorrowful eyes, " I know your papa would wish 
it to be so, Ceddie. He loved his home very much ; 

and there are many things to be thought of that 
a little boy can't quite understand. I should be a 
selfish little mother if I did not send you. When 
you are a man, you will see why." 

Ceddie shook his head mournfully. 

" I shall be very sorry to leave Mr. Hobbs," he 
said. " I 'm afraid he '11 miss me, and I shall miss 
him. And I shall miss them all." 

When Mr. Havisham — who was the family law- 
yer of the Earlof Dorincourt, and who had been sent 
by him to bring Lord Fauntleroy to England — 
came the next day, Cedric heard many things. But, 
somehow, it did not console him to hear that he 
was to be a very rich man when he grew up, and 
that he would have castles here and castles there, 
and great parks and deep mines and grand estates 
and tenantry. He was troubled about his friend, 
Mr. Hobbs, and he went to see him at the store 
soon after breakfast, in great anxiety of mind. 

He found him reading the morning paper, and 
he approached him with a grave demeanor. He 
really felt it would be a great shock to Mr. Hobbs 
to hear what had befallen him, and on his way to 
the store he had been thinking how it would be 
best to break the news. 

" Hello ! " said Mr. Hobbs. " Mornin' ! " 

" Good-morning," said Cedric. 

He did not climb up on the high stool as usual, 
but sat down on a cracker-box and clasped his 
knee, and was so silent for a few moments that Mr. 
Hobbs finally looked up inquiringly over the top 
of his newspaper. 

" Hello ! " he said again. 

Cedric gathered all his strength of mind to- 

"Mr. Hobbs," he said, "do you remember 
what we were talking about yesterday morning? " 

"Well," replied Mr. Hobbs, — "seems to me it 
was England." 

" Yes," said Cedric ; " but just when Mary came 
for me, you know ? " 

Mr. Hobbs rubbed the back of his head. 

" We luas mentioning Queen Victoria and the 

" Yes," said Cedric, rather hesitatingly, " and — 
and earls; don't you know ? " 

"Why, yes," returned Mr. Hobbs; "we did 
touch 'em up a little ; that 's so ! " 

Cedric flushed up to the curly bang on his fore- 
head. Nothing so embarrassing as this had ever 
happened to him in his life. He was a little afraid 




that it might be a trifle embarrassing to Mr. Hobbs, 

" You said," he proceeded, " that you would n't 
have them sitting 'round on your cracker-barrels." 

" So I did ! " returned Mr. Hobbs, stoutly. 
" And I meant it. Let 'em try it — that 's all ! " 

" Mr. Hobbs," said Ccdric, " one is sitting on 
this box now ! " 

Mr. Hobbs almost jumped out of his chair. 

" What ! " he exclaimed. 

"Yes," Cedric announced, with due modesty; 
' '/ am one — or I am going to be. I sha'n't deceive 

Mr. Hobbs looked agitated. He rose up sud- 
denly and went to look at the thermometer. 

" The mercury 's got into your head ! " he ex- 
claimed, turning back to examine his young friend's 
countenance. "It is a hot day! How do you 
feel ? Got any pain ? When did you begin to 
feel that way ? " 

He put his big hand on the little boy's hair. 
This was more embarrassing than ever. 

"Thank you," said Ceddie ; "I 'm all right. 
There is nothing the matter with my head. I 'm 
sorry to say it 's true, Mr. Hobbs. That was what 
Mary came to take me home for. Mr. Havisham 
was telling my mamma, and he is a lawyer." 

Mr. Hobbs sank into his chair and mopped his 
forehead with his handkerchief. 

" One of us has got a sunstroke ! " he exclaimed. 

" No," returned Cedric, " we have n't. We 
shall have to make the best of it, Mr. Hobbs. 
Mr. Havisham came all the way from England to 
tell us about it. My grandpapa sent him." 

Mr. Hobbs stared wildly at the innocent, serious 
little face before him. 

"Who is your grandfather? " he asked. 

Cedric put his hand in his pocket and carefully 
drew out a piece of paper, on which something was 
written in his own round, irregular hand. 

" I could n't easily remember it, so I wrote it 
down on this," he said. And he read aloud slowly : 
"'John Arthur Molyneux Errol, Earl of Dorin- 
court.' That is his name, and he lives in a castle 
— in two or three castles, I think. And my papa, 
who died, was his youngest son ; and I should n't 
have been a lord or an earl if my papa had n't 
died; and my papa would n't have been an earl if 
his two brothers had n't died. But they all died, 
and there is no one but me — no boy — and so I 
have to be one ; and my grandpapa has sent for 
me to come to England." 

Mr. Hobbs seemed to grow hotter and hotter. 
He mopped his forehead and his bald spot and 
breathed hard. He began to see that something 
very remarkable had happened ; but when he 
looked at the little boy sitting on the cracker-box, 

with the innocent, anxious expression in his child- 
ish eyes, and saw that he was not changed at all, 
but was simply as he had been the day before, 
just a handsome, cheerful, brave little fellow in 
a black cloth suit and red neck-ribbon, all this in- 
formation about the nobility bewildered him. He 
was all the more bewildered because Cedric gave 
it with such ingenuous simplicity, and plainly 
without realizing himself how stupendous it was. 

" Wha — what did you say your name was?" 
Mr. Hobbs inquired. 

" It 's Cedric Errol, Lord Fauntleroy," answered 
Cedric. "That was what Mr. Havisham called 
me. He said when I went into the room: ' And 
so this is little Lord Fauntleroy ! ' ' 

"Well, "said Mr. Hobbs, "I '11 be — jiggered!" 

This was an exclamation he always used when 
he was very much astonished or excited. He could 
think of nothing else to say just at that puzzling 

Cedric felt it to be quite a proper and suitable 
ejaculation. His respect and affection for Mr. 
Hobbs were so great that he admired and approved 
of all his remarks. He had not seen enough of 
society as yet to make him realize that sometimes 
Mr. Hobbs was not quite conventional. He knew, 
of course, that he was different from his mamma, 
but then, his mamma was a lady, and he had an 
idea that ladies were always different from gentle- 

He looked at Mr. Hobbs wistfully. 

"England is a long way off, is n't it?" he 

" It 's across the Atlantic Ocean," Mr. Hobbs 

'• That 's the worst of it," said Cedric. " Per- 
haps I shall not see you again for a long time. I 
don't like to think of that, Mr. Hobbs." 

"The best of friends must part," said Mr. 

" Well," said Cedric, " we have been friends for 
a great many years, have n't we ? " 

"Ever since you was born," Mr. Hobbs an- 
swered. " You was about six weeks old when you 
was first walked out on this street." 

"Ah," remarked Cedric, with a sigh, "I never 
thought I should have to be an earl then ! " 

"You think," said Mr. Hobbs, "there's no 
getting out of it ? " 

"I 'm afraid not," answered Cedric. " My 
mamma says that my papa would wish me to do 
it. But if I have to be an earl, there 's one thing 
I can do : I can try to be a good one. I 'm not 
going to be a tyrant. And if there is ever to be 
another war with America, I shall try to stop it." 

His conversation with Mr. Hobbs was a long 

8 4 



shock, Mr. Hobbs was not so rancorous as might 
have been expected ; he endeavored to resign him- 
self to the situation, and before the interview was 
at an end he had asked a great many questions. 
As Cedric could answer but few of them, he en- 
deavored to answer them himself, and being fairly 
launched on the subject of earls and marquises and 
lordly estates, explained many things in a way which 
would probably have astonished Mr. Havisham, 
could that gentleman have heard it. 

But then there were many things which astonished 
Mr. Havisham. He had spent all his life in England, 
and was not accustomed to American people and 
American habits. He had been connected pro- 
fessionally with the family of the Earl of Dorin- 
court for nearly forty years, and he knew all about 
its grand estates and its great wealth and impor- 
tance ; and, in a cold, business-like way, he felt an 
interest in this little boy, who, in the future, was to 
be the master and owner of them all, — the future 
Earl of Dorincourt. He had known all about the 
old Earl's disappointment in his elder sons and all 
about his fierce rage at Captain Cedric's American 
marriage, and he knew how he still hated the gentle 
little widow and would not speak of her except 
with bitter and cruel words. He insisted that she 
was only a common American girl, who had en- 
trapped his son into marrying her because she 
knew he was an earl's son. The old lawyer him- 
self had more than half believed this was all true. 
He had seen a great many selfish, mercenary peo- 
ple in his life, and he had not a good opinion of 
Americans. When he had been driven into the 
cheap street, and his coupe had stopped before the 
cheap, small house, he had felt actually shocked. 
It seemed really quite dreadful to think that the 
future owner of Dorincourt Castle and Wyndham 
Towers and Chorlworth, and all the other stately 
splendors, should have been born and brought up 
in an insignificant house in a street with a sort of 
green-grocery at the corner. He wondered what 
kind of a child he would be, and what kind of a 
mother he had. He rather shrank from seeing them 
both. He had a sort of pride in the noble family 
whose legal affairs he had conducted so long, and 
it would have annoyed him very much to have 
found himself obliged to manage a woman who 
would seem to him a vulgar, money-loving person, 
with no respect for her dead husband's country 
and the dignity of his name. It was a very old 
name and a very splendid one, and Mr. Havisham 
had a great respect for it himself, though he was 
only a cold, keen, business-like old lawyer. 

When Mary handed him into the small parlor 
he looked around it critically. It was plainly fur- 
nished, but it had a home-like look ; there were no 
cheap, common ornaments, and no cheap, gaudy 

pictures ; the few adornments on the walls were in 
good taste, and about the room were many pretty 
things which a woman's hand might have made. 

" Not at all bad so far," he had said to himself; 
" but perhaps the Captain's taste predominated." 
But when Mrs. Errol came into the room, he 
began to think she herself might have had some- 
thing to do with it. If he had not been quite a self- 
contained and stiff old gentleman, he would proba- 
bly have started when he saw her. She looked, 
in the simple black dress, fitting closely to her 
slender figure, more like a young girl than the 
mother of a boy of seven. She had a pretty, sor- 
rowful young face, and a very tender, innocent 
look in her large brown eyes, — the sorrowful look 
that had never quite left her face since her hus- 
band had died. Cedric was used to seeing it there; 
the only times he had ever seen it fade out had 
been when he was playing with her or talking to 
her, and had said some old-fashioned thing, or 
used some long word he had picked up out of 
the newspapers or in his conversations with Mr. 
Hobbs. He was fond of using long words, and he 
was always pleased when they made her laugh, 
though he could not understand why they were 
laughable ; they were quite serious matters with 
him. The lawyer's experience taught him to read 
people's characters very shrewdly, and as soon as 
he saw Cedric's mother he knew that the old Earl 
had made a great mistake in thinking her a vul- 
gar, mercenary woman. Mr. Havisham had never 
been married, he had never even been in love, 
but he divined that this pretty young creature with 
the sweet voice and sad eyes had married Captain 
Errol only because she loved him with all her 
affectionate heart, and that she had never once 
thought it an advantage that he was an earl's son. 
And he saw he should have no trouble with her, 
and he began to feel that perhaps little Lord 
Fauntleroy might not be such a trial tp his noble 
family, after all. The Captain had been a hand- 
some fellow, and the young mother was very 
pretty, and perhaps the boy might be well enough 
to look at. 

When he first told Mrs. Errol what he had come 
for, she turned very pale. 

"Oh!" she said; "will he have to be taken 
away from me ? We love each other so much ! He 
is such a happiness to me ! He is all I have. I 
have tried to be a good mother to him." And her 
sweet young voice trembled, and the tears rushed 
into her eyes. "You do not know what he has 
been to me ! " she said. 

The lawyer cleared his throat. 

"I am obliged to tell you," he said, "that the 
Earl of Dorincourt is not — is not very friendly 
toward you. He is an old man, and his preju- 



dices are very strong. He has always especially 
disliked America and Americans, and was very 
much enraged by his son's marriage. I am sorry 
to be the bearer of so unpleasant a communica- 
tion, but he is very fixed in his determination 
not to see you. His plan is that Lord Fauntleroy 
shall be educated under his own supervision ; that 
he shall live with him. The Earl is attached to 
Dorincourt Castle, and spends a great deal of time 
there. He is a victim to inflammatory gout, and 
is not fond of London. Lord Fauntleroy will, 
therefore, be likely to live chiefly at Dorincourt. 
The Earl offers to you as a 
home, Court Lodge, which is 
situated pleasantly, and is not 
very far from the castle. He 
also offers you a suitable in- 
come. Lord Fauntleroy will be 
permitted to visit you ; the only 
stipulation is, that you shall not 
visit him or enter the park gates. 
You see you will not be really 
separated from your son, and I 
assure you, Madam, the terms 
are not so harsh as — as they 
might have been. The advan- 
tage of such surroundings and 
education as Lord Fauntleroy 
will have, I am sure you must 
see, will be very great." 

He felt a little uneasy lest she 
should begin to cry or make a 
scene, as he knew some women 
would have done. It embar- 
rassed and annoyed him to see 
women cry. 

But she did not. She went 
to the window and stood with 
her face turned away for a few 
moments, and he saw she was 
trying to steady herself. 

" Captain Errol was very fond 
of Dorincourt," she said at last. 
" He loved England, and everything English. It 
was always a grief to him that he was parted from 
his home. He was proud of his home, and of his 
name. He would wish — I know he would wish 
that his son should know the beautiful old places, 
and be brought up in such a way as would be suit- 
able to his future position." 

Then she came back to the table and stood look- 
ing up at Mr. Havisham very gently. 

"My husband would wish it," she said. "It 
will be best for my little boy. I know — I am sure 
the Earl would not be so unkind as to try to teach 
him not to love me ; and I know — even if he tried 
— that my little boy is too much like his father to be 

harmed. He has a warm, faithful nature, and a 
true heart. He would love me even if he did not 
see me; and so long as we may see each other, I 
ought not to suffer very much." 

" She thinks very little of herself," the lawyer 
thought. "She does not make any terms for 

" Madam," he said aloud, " I respect your con- 
sideration for your son. He will thank you for it 
when he is a man. I assure you Lord Fauntleroy 
will be most carefully guarded, and every effort will 
be used to insure his happiness. The Earl of 


Dorincourt will be as anxious for his comfort and 
well-being as you yourself could be." 

" I hope," said the tender little mother, in a 
rather broken voice, "that his grandfather will 
love Ceddie. The little boy has a very affection- 
ate nature ; and he has always been loved." 

Mr. Havisham cleared his throat again. He 
could not quite imagine the gouty, fiery-tempered 
old Earl loving any one very much ; but he knew 
it would be to his interest to be kind, in his irrita- 
ble way, to the child who was to be his heir. He 
knew, too, that if Ceddie were at all a credit to his 
name, his grandfather would be proud of him. 

" Lord Fauntleroy will be comfortable, I am 




sure," he replied. " It was with a view to his 
happiness that the Earl desired that you should 
be near enough to him to see him frequently." 

He did not think it would be discreet to repeat 
the exact words the Earl had used, which were in 
fact neither polite nor amiable. 

Mr. Havisham preferred to express his noble 
patron's offer in smoother and more courteous 

He had another slight shock when Mrs. Errol 
asked Mary to find her little boy and bring him to 
her, and Mary told her where he was. 

" Sure I '11 foind him aisy enough, ma'am," she 
said ; "for it 's wid Mr. Hobbs he is this minnit, 
settin' on his high shtool by the counther an' talkin' 
pollytics, most loikely. or enj'yin' hisself among 
the soap an' candles an' pertaties, as sinsible an' 
shwate as ye plase." 

'"Mr. Hobbs has known him all his life," Mrs. 
Errol said to the lawyer. " He is very kind to Ced- 
die, and there is a great friendship between them." 

Remembering the glimpse he had caught of the 
store as he passed it, and having a recollection of 
the barrels of potatoes and apples and the vari- 
ous odds and ends, Mr. Havisham felt his doubts 
arise again. In England, gentlemen's sons did 
not make friends of grocerymen, and it seemed to 
him a rather singular proceeding. It would be 
very awkward if the child had bad manners and a 
disposition to like low company. One of the bit- 
terest humiliations of the old Earl's life had been 
that his two elder sons had been fond of low com- 
pany. Could it be, he thought, that this boy 
shared their bad qualities instead of his father's 
good qualities ? 

He was thinking uneasily about this as he talked 
to Mrs. Errol until the child came into the room. 
When the door opened, he actually hesitated a 
moment before looking at Cedric. It would, per- 
haps, have seemed very queer to a great many 
people who knew him, if they could have known 
the curious sensations that passed through Mr. 
Havisham when he looked down at the boy, who 
ran into his mother's arms. He experienced a re- 
vulsion of feeling which was quite exciting. He 
recognized in an instant that here was one of the 
finest and handsomest little fellows he had ever 
seen. His beauty was something unusual. He 
had a strong, lithe, graceful little body and a 
manly little face ; he held his childish head up, 
and carried himself with quite a brave little air ; 
he was so like his father that it was really startling ; 
he had his father's golden hair and his mother's 
brown eyes, but there was nothing sorrowful ortimid 
in them. They were innocently fearless eyes ; he 
looked as if he had never feared or doubted any- 
thing in his life. 

" He is the best-bred-looking and handsomest 
little fellow I ever saw," was what Mr. Havisham 
thought. What he said aloud was simply, "And 
so this is little Lord Fauntleroy." 

And, after this, the more he saw of little Lord 
Fauntleroy, the more of a surprise he found him. 
He knew very little about children, though he had 
seen plenty of them in England — fine, handsome, 
rosy girls and boys, who were strictly taken care 
of by their tutors and governesses, and who were 
sometimes shy, and sometimes a trifle boisterous, 
but never very interesting to a ceremonious, rigid 
old lawyer. Perhaps his personal interest in little 
Lord Fauntleroy 's fortunes made him notice Ced- 
die more than he had noticed other children ; but, 
however that was, he certainly found himself notic- 
ing him a great deal. 

Cedric did not know he was being observed, and 
he only behaved himself in his ordinary manner. 
He shook hands with Mr. Havisham in his friendly 
way when they were introduced to each other, and 
he answered all his questions with the unhesitating 
readiness with which he answered Mr. Hobbs. 
He was neither shy nor bold, and when Mr. Havi- 
sham was talking to his mother, the lawyer noticed 
that he listened to the conversation with as much 
interest as if he had been quite grown up. 

" He seems to be a very mature little fellow," 
Mr. Havisham said to the mother. 

" I think he is, in some things," she answered. 
" He has always been very quick to learn, and he 
has lived a great deal with grown-up people. He 
has a funny little habit of using long words and 
expressions he has read in books, or has heard 
others use, but he is very fond of childish play. I 
think he is rather clever, but he is a very boyish 
little boy, sometimes." 

The next time Mr. Havisham met him, he saw 
that this last was quite true. As his coupe turned 
the corner, he caught sight of a group of small 
boys, who were evidently much excited. Two of 
them were about to run a race, and one of them 
was his young lordship, and he was shouting and 
making as much noise as the noisiest of his com- 
panions. He stood side by side with another boy, 
one little red leg advanced a step. 

" One, to make ready ! " yelled the starter. 
" Two, to be steady. Three — and away ! " 

.Mr. Havisham found himself leaning out of the 
window of his coupe with a curious feeling of inter- 
est. He really never remembered having seen 
anything quite like the way in which his lordship's 
lordly little red legs flew up behind his knicker- 
bockers and tore over the ground as he shot out in 
the race at the signal word. He shut his small hands 
and set his face against the wind ; his bright hair 
streamed out behind. 



"Hooray, Ced Errol ! " all the boys shouted, 
dancing and shrieking with excitement. " Hooray, 
Billy Williams ! Hooray, Ceddie ! Hooray, Billy ! 
Hooray ! 'Ray ! 'Ray ! " 

" I really believe he is going to win," said Mr. 
Havisham. The way in which the red legs flew and 
flashed up and down, the shrieks of the boys, the 
wild efforts of Billy Williams, whose brown legs 
were not to be despised, as they followed closely 
in the rear of the red legs, made him feel some ex- 
citement. •' I really — I really can't help hoping 
he will win ! " he said, with an apologetic sort of 

At that moment the wildest yell of all went up 
from the dancing, hopping boys. With one last 
frantic leap the future Earl of Dorincourt had 
reached the lamp-post at the end of the block and 
touched it, just two seconds before Billy Williams 
flung himself at it, panting. 

"Three cheers for Ceddie Errol!" yelled the 
little boys. " Hooray for Ceddie Errol ! " 

Mr. Havisham drew his head in at the window 
of his coupe and leaned back with a dry smile. 

" Bravo, Lord Fauntleroy ! " he said. 

As his carriage stopped before the door of Mrs. 
Errol's house, the victor and the vanquished were 
coming toward it, attended by the clamoring crew. 
Cedric walked by Billy Williams and was speak- 
ing to him. His elated little face was very red, 
his curls clung to his hot. moist forehead, his hands 
•were in his pockets." 

" You see," he was saying, evidently with the 
intention of making defeat easy for his unsuc- 
cessful rival, "I guess I won because my legs are 
a little longer than yours. I guess that was it. 
You see, I 'm three days older than you, and that 
gives me a 'vantage. I 'm three days older." 

And this view of the case seemed to cheer Billy 
Williams so much that he began to smile on the 
world again, and felt able to swagger a little, al- 
most as if he had won the race instead of losing it. 
Somehow, Ceddie Errol had a way of making peo- 
ple feel comfortable. Even in the first flush of his 
triumphs, he remembered that the person who was 
beaten might not feel so gay as he did, and might 
like to think that he might have been the winner 
under different circumstances. 

That morning Mr. Havisham had quite a long 
conversation with the winner of the race — a con- 
versation which made him smile his dry smile, and 
rub his chin with his bony hand several times. 

Mrs. Errol had been called out of the parlor, 
and the lawyer and Cedric were left together. At 
first Mr. Havisham wondered what he should say 
to his small companion. He had an idea that 
perhaps it would be best to say several things which 
might prepare Cedric for meeting his grandfather, 

and, perhaps, for the great change that was to 
come to him. He could see that Cedric had not 
the least idea of the sort of thing he was to see 
when he reached England, or of the sort of home 
that waited for him there. He did not even know 
yet that his mother was not to live in the same 
house with him. They had thought it best to let 
him get over the first shock before telling him. 

Mr. Havisham sat in an arm-chair on one side 
of the open window ; on the other side was another 
still larger chair, and Cedric sat in that and looked 
at Mr. Havisham. He sat well back in the depths 
of his big seat, his curly head against the cush- 
ioned back, his legs crossed, and his hands thrust 
deep into his pockets, in a quite Mr. Hobbs-like 
way. He had been watching Mr. Havisham very 
steadily when his mamma had been in the room, 
and after she was gone he still looked at him in re- 
spectful thoughtfulness. There was a short silence 
after Mrs. Errol went out, and Cedric seemed to 
be studying Mr. Havisham, and Mr. Havisham 
was certainly studying Cedric. He could not 
make up his mind as to what an elderly gentleman 
should say to a little boy who won races, and wore 
short knickerbockers and red stockings on legs 
which were not long enough to hang over a big 
chair when he sat well back in it. 

But Cedric relieved him by suddenly beginning 
the conversation himself. 

" Do you know," he said ; " I don't know what 
an earl is?" 

" Don't you ?" said Mr. Havisham. 

" No," replied Ceddie. "And I think when a 
boy is going to be one, he ought to know. Don't 
you ?" 

"Well — yes," answered Mr. Havisham. 

" Would you mind," said Ceddie respectfully — 
"would you mind 'splaining it to me?" (Some- 
times when he used his long words he did not pro- 
nounce them quite correctly.) " What made him 
an earl ?" 

"A king or queen, in the first place," said Mr. 
Havisham. "Generally, he is made an earl be- 
cause he has done some service to his sovereign, 
or some great deed." 

" Oh ! " said Cedric; "that 'slike the President." 

"Is it?" said Mr. Havisham. "Is that why 
your presidents are elected ? " 

" Yes," answered Ceddie cheerfully. " When a 
man is very good and knows a great deal, he is 
elected president. They have torch- light proces- 
sions and bands, and everybody makes speeches. 
I used to think I might perhaps be a president, 
but I never thought of being an earl. I did n't 
know about earls," he said, rather hastily, lest Mr. 
Havisham might feel it impolite in him not to 
have wished to be one, — "if I 'd known about 




them, I dare say I should have thought I should 
like to be one." 

" It is rather different from being a president," 
said Mr. Havisham. 

"Is it?" asked Cedric. " How? Are there no 
torch-light processions ? " 

Mr. Havisham crossed his own legs and put the 
tips of his fingers carefully together. He thought 
perhaps the time had come to explain matters 
rather more clearly. 

"An earl is — is a very important person," he 

"So is a president!" put in Ceddie. "The 
torch-light processions are five miles long, and 
they shoot up rockets, and the band plays ! Mr. 
Hobbs took me to see them." 

"An earl," Mr. Havisham went on, feeling 
rather uncertain of his ground, " is frequently of 
very ancient lineage " 

" What 's that? " asked Ceddie. 

" Of very old family — extremely old." 

" Ah ! " said Cedric, thrusting his hands deeper 
into his pockets. " I suppose that is the way with 
the apple-woman near the park. I dare say she is 
of ancient lin-lenage. She is so old it would sur- 
prise you how she can stand up. She 's a hundred, 
I should think, and yet she is out there when it 
rains, even. I 'm sorry for her, and so are the other 
boys. Billy Williams once had nearly a dollar and 
I asked him to buy five cents' worth of apples from 
her every day until he had spent it all. That 
made twenty days, and he grew tired of apples 
after a week ; but then — it was quite fortunate — a 
gentleman gave me fifty cents and I bought apples 
from her instead. You feel sorry for any one that 's 
so poor and has such ancient lin-lenage. She says 
hers has gone into her bones and the rain makes it 

Mr. Havisham felt rather at a loss as he looked 
at his companion's innocent, serious little face. 

" I am afraid you did not quite understand me," 
he explained. "When I said 'ancient lineage' I 
did not mean old age ; I meant that the name of 
such a family has been known in the world a long 
time ; perhaps for hundreds of years persons bear- 
ing that name have been known and spoken of in 
the history of their country." 

" Like George Washington," said Ceddie. " I 've 
heard of him ever since I was born, and he was 
known about, long before that. Mr. Hobbs says 
he will never be forgotten. That 's because of the 
Declaration of Independence, you know, and the 
Fourth of July. You see, he was a very brave 

"The first Earl of Dorincourt," said Mr. Havi- 
sham solemnly, " was created an earl four hundred 
years ago." 

"Well, well!" said Ceddie. "That was a 
long time ago! Did you tell Dearest that? It 
would int 'rust her very much. We '11 tell her 
when she comes in. She always likes to hear 
cur 'us things'. What else does an earl do besides 
being created ? " 

" A great many of them have helped to govern 
England. Some of them have been brave men 
and have fought in great battles in the old days." 

" I should like to do that myself," said Cedric. 
" My papa was a soldier, and he was a very brave 
man — as brave as George Washington. Perhaps 
that was because he would have been an carl if he 
had n't died. I am glad earls are brave. That 's a 
great 'vantage — to be a brave man. Once I used to 
be rather afraid of things — in the dark, you know ; 
but when I thought about the soldiers in the Revolu- 
tion and George Washington — it cured me." 

" There is another advantage in being an earl, 
sometimes," said Mr. Havisham slowly, and he 
fixed his shrewd eyes on the little boy with a rather 
curious expression. " Some earls have a great 
deal of money." 

He was curious because he wondered if his 
young friend knew what the power of money was. 

"That's a good thing to have," said Ceddie 
innocently. " I wish I had a great deal of money. " 

" Do you ? " said Mr. Havisham. '" And why ? " 

" Well," explained Cedric, " there are so many 
things a person can do with money. You see, 
there's the apple-woman. If I were very rich I 
should buy her a little tent to put her stall in, and 
a little stove, and then I should give her a dollar 
every morning it rained, so that she could afford to 
stay at home. And then — oh! I 'd give her a 
shawl. And, you see, her bones would n't feel so 
badly. Her bones are not like our bones ; they 
hurt her when she moves. It 's very painful when 
your bones hurt you. If I were rich enough to 
do all those things for her I guess her bones would 
be all right." 

"Ahem!" said Mr. Havisham. "And what 
else would you do if you were rich ? " 

" Oh ! I'd do a great many things. Of course 
I should buy Dearest all sorts of beautiful things, 
needle-books and fans and gold thimbles and 
rings, and an encyclopedia, and a carriage, so that 
she need n't have to wait for the street-cars. If 
she liked pink silk dresses, I should buy her some, 
but she likes black best. But I 'd take her to the 
big stores, and tell her to look 'round and choose 
for herself. And then Dick " 

" Who is Dick?" asked Mr. Havisham. 

" Dick is a boot-black," said his young lordship, 
quite warming up in his interest in plans so ex- 
citing. " He is one of the nicest boot-blacks you 
ever knew. He stands at the corner of a street down 

i88 5 . 


s 9 

town. I 've known him for years. Once when I w-as 
very little, I was walking out with Dearest and she 
bought me a beautiful ball that bounced, and I was 
carrying it and it bounced into the middle of the 
street where the carriages and horses were, and I 
was so disappointed, I began to cry — I was very 
little. I had kilts on, and Dick was blacking a 
man's shoes, and he said ' Hello ! ' and he ran in 

" Well," said Lord Fauntleroy, settling himself 
in his chair with a business air; "I 'd buy Jake 

"And who is Jake?" Mr. Havisham asked. 

" He 's Dick's partner, and he is the worst part- 
ner a fellow could have ! Dick says so. He is n't 
a credit to the business, and he is n't square. He 
cheats, and that makes Dick mad. It would make 



between the horses and caught the ball for me and 
wiped it off with his coat and gave it to me and 
said : ' It 's all right, young un.' So Dearest ad- 
mired him very much, and so did I. and ever since 
then, when we go down town, we talk to him. He 
says ' Hello ! ' and 1 say ' Hello ! ' and then we 
talk a little, and he tells me how trade is. It 's 
been bad lately." 

"And what would you like to do for him?" 
inquired the lawyer, rubbing his chin and smiling 
a queer smile. 

you mad, you know, if you were blacking boots as 
hard as you could, and being square all the time, 
and your partner was n't square at all. People like 
Dick, but they don't like Jake, and so sometimes 
they don't come twice. So if I were rich, I 'd buy Jake 
out and get Dick a ' boss ' sign — he says a ' boss ' 
sign goes a long way ; and I 'd get him some new 
clothes and new brushes, and start him out fair. 
He says all he wants is to slart out fair." 

There could have been nothing more confiding 
and innocent than the way in which his small 

9 o 



lordship told his little story, quoting his friend 
Dick's bits of slang in the most candid good faith. 
He seemed to feel not a shade of a doubt that his 
elderly companion would be just as interested as 
he was himself. And in truth Mr. Havisham was 
beginning to be greatly interested ; but perhaps not 
quite so much in Dick and the apple-woman as in 
this kind little lordling, whose curly head was so 
busy, under its yellow thatch, with good-natured 
plans for his friends, and who seemed somehow to 
have forgotten himself altogether. 

"Is there anything " he began. "What 

would you get for yourself, if you were rich?" 

"Lots of things!" answered Lord Fauntleroy 
briskly: "but first I 'd give Mary some money 
for Bridget — that's her sister, with twelve chil- 
dren, and a husband out of work. She comes here 
and cries, and Dearest gives her things in a basket, 
and then she cries again, and says : ' Blessin's be 
on yez, for a beautiful lady.' And I think Mr. 
Hobbs would like a gold watch and chain to 
remember me by. and a meerschaum pipe. And 
then I 'd like to get up a company." 

" A company ! " exclaimed Mr. Havisham. 

" Like a Republican rally," explained Cedric, 
becoming quite excited. " I 'd have torches and 
uniforms and things for all the boys and myself, 
too. And we 'd march, you know, and drill. 
That 's what I should like for myself, if I were 

The door opened and Mrs. Errol came in. 

" I am sorry to have been obliged to leave you 
so long," she said to Mr. Havisham ; " but a poor 
woman, who is in great trouble, came to see me." 

"This young gentleman," said Mr. Havisham, 
"has been telling me about some of his friends, 
and what he would do for them if lie were rich." 

"Bridget is one of his friends," said Mrs. Errol; 
" and it is Bridget to whom I have been talking in 
the kitchen. She is in great trouble now because 
her husband has rheumatic fever." 

Cedric slipped down out of his big chair. 

" I think I '11 go and see her," he said, " and ask 
her how he is. He 's a nice man when he is 
well. 1 'm obliged to him because he once made 
me a sword out of wood. He 's a very talented 

He ran out of the room, and Mr. Havisham rose 
from his chair. He seemed to have something in 
his mind which he wished to speak of. He hesi- 
tated a moment, and then said, looking down at 
Mrs. Errol : 

" Before I left Dorincourt Castle, I had an inter- 
view with the Earl, in which he gave me some 
instructions. He is desirous that his grandson 
should look forward with some pleasure to his 
future life in England, and also to his acquaintance 

with himself. He said that I must let his lordship 
know that the change in his life would bring him 
money and the pleasures children enjoy ; if he 
expressed any wishes I was to gratify them, and to 
tell him that his grandfather had given him what 
he wished. I am aware that the Earl did not 
expect anything quite like this; but if it would 
give Lord Fauntleroy pleasure to assist this poor 
woman, I should feel that the Earl would be dis- 
pleased if he were not gratified." 

For the second time, he did not repeat the Earl's 
exact words. His lordship had, indeed, said: 

" Make the lad understand that I can give him 
anything he wants. Let him know what it is to be 
the grandson of the Earl of Dorincourt. Buy him 
everything he takes a fancy to; let him have 
money in his pockets, and tell him his grandfather 
put it there." 

His motives were far from being good, and if he 
had been dealing with a nature less affectionate 
and warm-hearted than little Lord Fauntleroy's, 
great harm might have been done. And Cedric's 
mother was too gentle to suspect any harm. She 
thought that perhaps this meant that a lonely, 
unhappy old man, whose children were dead, 
wished to be kind to her little boy, and win his 
love and confidence. And it pleased her very 
much to think that Ceddie would be able to help 
Bridget. It made her happier to know that the 
very first result of the strange fortune which had 
befallen her little boy was that he could do kind 
things for those who needed kindness. Quite a 
warm color bloomed on her pretty young face. 

"Oh!" she said, "that was very kind of the 
Earl ; Cedric will be so glad ! He has always been 
fond of Bridget and Michael. They are quite 
deserving. I have often wished I had been able 
to help them more. Michael is a hard-working 
man when he is well, but he has been ill a long 
time and needs expensive medicines and warm 
clothing and nourishing food, He and Bridget 
will not be wasteful of what is given them." 

Mr. Havisham put his thin hand in his breast 
pocket and drew forth a large pocket-book. There 
was a queer look in his keen face. The truth was, 
he was wondering what the Earl of Dorincourt 
would say when he was told what was the first 
wish of his grandson that had been granted. He 
wondered what the cross, worldly, selfish old noble- 
man would think of it. 

"I do not know that you have realized," he 
said, " that the Earl of Dorincourt is an exceedingly 
rich man. He can afford to gratify any caprice. 
I think it would please him to know that Lord 
Fauntleroy had been indulged in any fancy. If 
you will call him back and allow me, I shall give 
him five pounds for these people." 

i88 S .; 



" That would be twenty-five dollars ! " exclaimed 
Mrs. Errol. "It will seem like wealth to them. 
I can scarcely believe that it is true." 

" It is quite true," said Mr. Havisham, with his 
dry smile. '"A great change has taken place in 
your son's life, a great deal of power will lie in his 

" Oh ! " cried his mother. " And he is such a 
little bov — a very little boy. How can I teach 
him to use it well? It makes me half afraid. My 
pretty little Ceddie ! " 

The lawyer slightly cleared his throat. It 
touched his worldly, hard old heart to see the ten- 
der, timid look in her brown eyes. 

'•I think, Madam," he said, "that if I may 
judge from my interview' with Lord Fauntleroy this 
morning,, the next Earl of Dorincourt will think for 
others as well as for his noble self. He is only a 
child yet, but I think he may be trusted." 

Then his mother went for Cedric and brought 
him back into the parlor. Mr. Havisham heard 
him talking before he entered the room. 

"It's infam-natory rheumatism," he was say- 
ing, "and that 's a kind of rheumatism that's 
dreadful. And he thinks about the rent not being 
paid, and Bridget says that makes the inf 'animation 
worse. And Pat could get a place in a store if he 
had some clothes." 

His little face looked quite anxious when he 
came in. He was very sorry for Bridget. 

•• Dearest said you wanted me," he said to Mr. 
Havisham. " I 've been talking to Bridget." 

Mr. Havisham looked down at him a moment. 
He felt a little awkward and undecided. As Cedric's 
mother had said, he was a very little boy. 

" The Earl of Dorincourt " he began, and 

then he glanced involuntarily at Mrs. Errol. 

Little Lord Fauntleroy's mother suddenly kneeled 
down by him and put both her tender arms around 
his childish body. 

"Ceddie," she said, "the Earl is your grandpapa, 
your own papa's father. He is very, very kind, 
and he loves you and wishes you to love him, be- 
cause the sons who were his little boys are dead. 
He wishes you to be happy and to make other people 
happy. He is very rich, and he wishes you to have 
everything you would like to have. He told Mr. 
Havisham so, and gave him a great deal of money 
for you. You can give some to Bridget now ; 
enough to pay her rent and buy Michael every- 
thing. Is n't that fine, Ceddie? Is n't he good?" 
And she kissed the child on his round cheek, where 
the bright color suddenly flashed up in his excited 

He looked from his mother to Mr. Havisham. 

" Can I have it now ? " he cried. "Can I give it 
to her this minute? She 's just going." 

Mr. Havisham handed him the money. It 
was in fresh, clean greenbacks and made a neat 

Ceddie flew out of the room with it. 

" Bridget ! " they heard him shout, as he tore 
into the kitchen. " Bridget, wait a minute ! Here's 
some money. It 's for you, and you can pay the 
rent. My grandpapa gave it to me. It 's for you 
and Michael ! " 

" Oh, Master Ceddie ! " cried Bridget, in an 
awe-stricken voice. " It 's twinty-foive dollars is 
here. Where be's the misthress ? " 

" I think I shall have to go and explain it to her," 
Mrs Errol said. 

So she, too, went out of the room and Mr. 
Havisham was left alone for a while. He went to 
the window and stood looking out into the street 
reflectively. He was thinking of the old Earl of 
Dorincourt, sitting in his great, splendid, gloomy 
library at the castle, gouty and lonely, surrounded 
by grandeur and luxury, but not really loved by any 
one, because in all his long life he had never really 
loved any one but himself; he had been selfish and 
self-indulgent and arrogant and passionate ; he had 
cared so much for the Earl of Dorincourt and his 
pleasures that there had been no time for him to 
think of other people ; all his wealth and power, all 
the benefits from his noble name and high rank, 
had seemed to him to be things only to be used to 
amuse and give pleasure to the Earl of Dorincourt; 
and now that he was an old man, all this excitement 
and self-indulgence had only brought him ill health 
and irritability and a dislike of the world, which 
certainly disliked him. In spite of all his splendor, 
there was never a more unpopular old nobleman 
than the Earl of Dorincourt, and there could 
scarcely have been a more lonely one. He could 
fill his castle with guests if he chose. He could 
give great dinners and splendid hunting parties; 
but he knew that in secret the people who would 
accept his invitations were afraid of his frowning 
old face and sarcastic, biting speeches. He had 
a cruel tongue and a bitter nature, and he took 
pleasure in sneering at people and making them 
feel uncomfortable, when he had the power to 
do so, because they were sensitive or proud or 

Mr. Havisham knew his hard, fierce ways by 
heart, and he was thinking of him as he looked out 
of the window into the narrow, quiet street. And 
there rose in his mind, in sharp contrast, the picture 
of the cheery, handsome little fellow sitting in the 
big chair and telling his story of his friends, Dick 
and the apple-woman, in his generous, innocent, 
honest way. And he thought of the immense in- 
come, the beautiful, majestic estates, the wealth, 
and power for good or evil, which in the course 



of time would lie in the small, chubby hands hands on his knees. He was glowing with enjoy- 

little Lord Fauntleroy thrust so deep into hi 

"It will make a great difference," he said to him- 
self. " It will make a great difference." 

Cedric and his mother came back soon after. 

ment of Bridget's relief and rapture. 

" She cried ! " he said. " She said she was cry- 
ing for joy ! I never saw any one cry for joy before. 
My grandpapa must be a very good man. I did n't 
know he was so good a man. It 's more — more 

Cedric was in high spirits. He sat down in his agreeablcr to be an earl than I thought it was. 
own chair, between his mother and the lawyer, I 'm almost glad — I 'm almost quite glad I 'ingoing 
and fell into one of his quaint attitudes, with his to be one." 

( To be continued. ) 

By Grace Dexio Litchfield. 

Lightly and whitely 

As wheat from the grain, 
Thickly and quickly 

As thoughts through the brain, 
So fast and so dumb 
Do the snow-flakes come; — 
Swift, swift as the lays drop 

From glad poet-lips, 
Soft, soft as the days drop 

From Time's finger-tips. 
Oh, so many, so many! 

Vet no sound from any. 

Oh, so fast, oh, so fast ! 

Yet no track where they passed. 

Oh, so fragile, so frail ! 

Yet no force can prevail 

To speed them or stay them. 

No prayer can out-weigh them. 

They fall where they must, 

Through the fathomless gray, 
And bring to earth's dust 

What of heaven they may. 


By H. H. (Helen Jacksox.) 

The Magic Clocks. — Part II. 

AFTER a long time, almost a year, the old man 
really did come back. It was in the pleasant spring- 
time that he had come at first, and the last snow was 
just melting away when he came the second time. 

The children had a big snow-man in their 
yard ; they made him in February, and the cold 
weather had continued so steadily that he had 
lasted away into April, much to the children's de- 
light. He was a giant snow-man ; fully six feet 
high. They called him the Colossus of Rhodes, 
after a picture their father had shown to them of 
a great statue which stood astride a gulf of water, 
hundreds and hundreds of years ago. 

So splendid a snow-man had never before been 
seen in the town, and the children had two months' 
solid fun with him, — piecing him, putting big 
elbows on him, sticking red woolen caps on his 

head, tying comforters around his neck, fasten- 
ing placards on his breast, such as " Pity the sor- 
rows of a poor blind man," " I am cold," or 
"Fresh from the North Pole." This last was 
Helen's device. She also made a bright blue and 
white flag, out of two old silk pocket-handkerchiefs, 
and on the white half she worked, in big blue let- 
ters, " The Ice Captain." This she sewed on the 
end of an old hearth-brush handle, and stuck it 
into the snow-man's right hand. The brush handle 
was bright red and yellow, and the effect of the 
whole was very gay. 

But the days of the snow-man were fast drawing 
to a close. In the last week of March he began to 
sink in stature. Each day he settled down more 
and more, and grew shorter, and shorter, until 
even Elizabeth could reach his head by standing 
on tip-toe. Finally, his right arm fell off and 
made a big snow pile down by his side ; then a mis- 

i88 5 .; 



chievous town boy stoned off his head, and the 
children decided that they would finish up the job 
of destroying him themselves. So that was what 
they were at, the morning their old friend the 
Magic-Clock man returned. 

It was just as it had been the first time. They 
did not hear a footstep, or a sound of any kind, 
until suddenly thev looked around and saw the old 

stern to her. She, more than any of the others, 
believed that the old man was really a magician, 
and that he would know all she had done during 
the whole year, and how that very morning, 
when her nurse hurt her head a little, combing 
the tangles out of her curly hair, she had spoken 
so snappishly to her that the little white clock 
had rung out in as loud and disapproving a tone 

man standing at the gate. He had the same big 
box on his back, and the same pleasant smile on 
his face, and he looked at them steadily, as before, 
without speaking. 

''Oh, there is the old man !" exclaimed Eliza- 
beth, joyfully. 

" I told you he would come," said Frank, and 
they all ran to the gate as fast as they could go ; only 
Helen lagged a little, and shyly hung her pretty 
head, for fear the old man would sav something 

as ever, and poor Helen had thought to her- 
self: " Dear me ! I shall never, never learn to 
keep my temper ! " 

Hut, strange to say, there was not one of the 
children who received so loving and friendly a 
glance from the old man as that which he gave to 
Helen. He waited until she had come up before he 
spoke a word ; then, stretching out his hand, he laid 
it on her curls, and vigorously nodding his head, 
he said, smiling all the while like a sunbeam: 




" Tangle Locks, — magic clocks. How did they 
go, little one ? " 

Helen could not speak ; but the other three all 
cried out at once : 

" Oh, they are lovely ! We thank you ever so 

Frank, true to his resolution, had already taken 
firm hold of the old man's coat-tail and begun 
with his questioning: 

" We want to know, sir, " He did not get any 

farther with his question. Interrupting him in a 
kindly but firm tone, the old man said : 

" I am going to tell you all you can know about 
it. The things you were going to ask me are things 
you can not be told." 

" How did he know what I was going to ask 
him?" thought Frank. " He is a great magician, 
I do believe. But I think he might tell mc what 
makes the clocks strike, and why they don't need 
any winding up." 

The old man was unstrapping his box from his 
shoulders. As he set it upon the ground, the chil- 
dren gathered closer around him, with eager looks. 
They thought he was going to open it, and per- 
haps give them some new kind of magic gift. 
But he only smiled, and shook his head. 

"No, no," he said, seating himself on the box, 
"I have nothing for you in my box. It is full 
of just the same sort of magic clocks that I gave 
you. I never carry anything else. My only busi- 
ness is to go about the world, giving them to boys 
.and girls. Then, after they have had the clocks 
a year, I come again to see what use they have 
made of them." 

Here he fixed his eyes on Helen, who grew very 
red in the face, and tried to hide behind Frank. 
But the old man reached out a very long arm, and, 
drawing her forward, took her between his knees, 
and again patted her golden curls. 

"We should like to know, sir," again began 
Frank, who still kept a corner of one of the old 
man's coat-tails tightly grasped in his hand. " We 
should like to know, sir, " 

He did not get any farther in his question. 
Interrupting him in the same gentle, kindly voice, 
the old man continued speaking as if he had not 
heard Frank at all. 

" I have not brought you any presents this year, 
but I am going to tell you something which will be 
better than any present in the world." 

The children all crowded closer, their eyes full 
of wonder and interest. But Frank did not let go 
the coat-tail. 

"I don't care," he was saying to himself; "he 
sha'n't slip away from me this time till I find out 
about the wheels." 

" The thing I am going to tell you now," con- 

tinued the old man, " is even more wonderful than 
the clocks. I tell it only to such children as have 
made good use of their clocks, and have tried to 
obey the warnings given them. I see that you 
have done so. I can tell as soon as I look at 
children's faces whether they have tried or not." 

At this Helen lifted up her face, encouraged ; 
and. looking directly into the old man's kind, gray 
eyes, whispered : 

" ] have tried very hard." 

The old man nodded, and patted her curls, as 
he went on : 

" I did not tell you, when I was here before, 
anything about these clocks. Now, I shall explain 
to you what makes them strike." 

"Ha!" thought Frank, "now we 're coming 
to it. That 's something like ! " and in his eager 
delight he dropped the coat-tail and crowded up 
closer in front of the old man. 

" There is a fairy inside of each clock," said the 
old man; "a fairy so small that no human eyes 
can see her." 

Helen caught her breath. " Oh, a real live 
fairy ? " she said. " Will she never come out and 
speak to us ? " 

" The way they speak is by striking the 
clocks," replied the old man. "That is all they 
are there for — to keep watch over all you do, 
and to call out to you, by striking the clocks, 
to warn you when you do wrong, and to praise 
you when you do right. These fairies live in the 
clocks ; but they can come out of them when- 
ever they like. And part of their work has to be 
done outside of the clocks. Where do you think?" 

Here he paused for an answer ; but the children 
were too excited to make any answer. 

" Outside the- clocks ! " ejaculated Frank. 

"Yes, outside the clocks," continued the old 
man. " Outside the clocks; on — your — faces!" 

Here he paused and looked smilingly at the 
children, almost laughing at the bewilderment he 
saw in their eyes. 

" On — our — faces ! " repeated Elizabeth, 
thoughtfully, rubbing her cheek with her hand as 
she spoke. " Oh, I guess " 

" Yes, you can guess, perhaps," the old man 
said; "but I shall tell the others, and you will see 
if you guessed right. The work the fairies do on 
your faces is this : They are obliged to keep a 
written record there, of every time the clocks 

"Every time!" exclaimed Elizabeth. She 
thought she must have guessed wrongly. " Our 
faces would be all marked up then ! " 

"So they are!" replied the old man, "all 
marked up; and people who understand the 
fairies' writing can read the records as soon as thev 

T H E M A G I C C L O C K S . 


look at you. That is the way I knew, as soon as I 
looked at you, to-day, that you had been making 
a good use of your clocks this whole year — that 
you had been growing better and better children 
all the time." 

At this the tears rolled down Helen's cheek. 
" Oh, no," she said ; " you did n't read it right 
on my face ; for only this morning I was as cross 
as ever to my nurse, because my hair was snarled." 

"That's nothing!" spoke up Frank. "You 
did read it right, sir ; she 's grown to be kind and 
good almost all the time. We all think so, don't 
we? " and he looked at the others. 

" Yes, indeed," said Elizabeth ; and, " Yes, in- 
deed ! " echoed James. 

The old man nodded. " I 'm never mistaken," 
he said. "There is no such thing as mistaking 
that kind of writing on faces. Every time the 
clock strikes for a mean act or a cross word, out 
flies the fairy and draws a line about the mouth or 
about the eyes that says, 'mean!' 'cross!' or 
' untrue ! ' just as plain as plain English. And 
every time the clock strikes for a pleasant, kind, 
generous, loving, true act or word, out Hies the 
fairy, so happy and glad, and draws the lines which 
mean, 'pleasant,' 'kind,' 'generous,' 'loving,' 
' true,' on the face. And these lines never die 
out. It is n't like any other writing. Writing in 
ink or with pencil — all such writing fades; and 
the paper it is written on is destroyed in a 
thousand ways, — torn, burned up, lost. All such 
writing comes to an end, and disappears sooner or 
later. But the writing on faces never fades. It 
grows clearer and clearer the longer you live; and 
you can never get a new face till you die ; the one 
that you are born with must last you to the end 
of life ! And if you allow your -face to become 
written all over with ugly lines, of dishonest, mean, 
unkind, ill-natured actions, almostbefore you know 
it, you will have what is called ' a bad face.' You 
often hear people say of a man, ' he has a bad 
face,' or ' he has a good face.' That is what the 
fairies who write on faces have done, to let the 
whole world know what sort of a man or woman 
the person is." 

" Some people are born pretty, Nurse says," 
interrupted Helen, timidly ; " she says you can't 
spoil a pretty face." 

" Nurse is mistaken," said the old man energet- 
ically. "That is a great mistake. The prettiest 
face in the world can be made frightful to look at, 
simply by being written full of hateful actions and 

words ; and the plainest face in the world can be 
made to look beautiful by being written full of 
love and kindness and truth." 

" That's like Mamma's face," said Elizabeth. 

" Yes ! yes ! " cried all the children. 

" Then your mamma has been all her life doing 
kind things, and speaking pleasant words," said 
the old man. 

" That 's so," said Frank. 

" Will being cross a few times, spoil one's face ? " 
asked poor Helen anxiously. 

"Oh, no! dear child," the old man answered, 
"luckily for everybody. If that were so, the fairies 
would be discouraged with their writing, fur they 
hate to make bad faces. Whatever lines are in the 
majority, as the days go by, will show on the faces. 
If there are ten pleasant lines to one ill-natured 
one, the ill-natured one will be so crossed out 
that it will not show. " 

"Ten to one," sighed Helen; " that 's a great 

" Pshaw !" cried Frank, "you have twenty to 
one, on your face, Helen ; you 're pleasant twenty 
times, nowadays, where you are cross once." 

The old man gave a queer sort of chuckle. 

"You'll do, children," he said, rising, and put- 
ting Helen down on the ground. " You '11 do ! 1 
wish all my children understood it all as well a:, 
you seem to." 

" But we should like to know, sir," began Frank, 
catching hold of the old man's coat-tail once 
more. " Before you go, we should like to know, 
sir, " 

He did not get any farther with his question. As 
suddenly as he vanished the first time, the old man 
had vanished now. Big box, straps, sunny smile, old 
man, — all gone, like a puff of smoke ! Not a sign 
of a living creature in the street ; not a trace of a 
cloud in the sky. 

The children rubbed their eyes, and gazed up 
and down, and at each other, too astonished to 

Frank first found his voice. 

" I never saw anything like it ! " he said. " It 's 
too provoking. The next time he comes, I sha'n't 
drop his coat-tail one single second. I 'm deter- 
mined to find out about those wheels." 

"I think he's told us all lie means to," said 
Elizabeth. " I don't believe he 'II ever come back 

What is the old man's name ? 

And where are his clocks to be found ? Guess ! 

9 6 





By Washington Gladden. 

On a certain twenty-fourth day of December, 
about four o'clock in the afternoon, if you had 
been looking in at the front windows of the Mer- 
chants' and Manufacturers' Bank, in the city of 
Smokopolis, you would have seen a big book, 
lying open on a desk, shut itself up with a sound- 
ing smack, spring into the air, and go flying to its 
place on the shelf of the vault in the rear of the 

While you were wondering what might be the 
matter with the big book, you would suddenly dis- 

cover that its remarkable antics were due to the 
agency of a little man whom you had hardly no- 
ticed before, whose chubby hands had closed the 
book, lifted it above his head, and borne it swiftly to 
its resting-place. Now that the big book is out of 
sight, you get a better look at the little man, as he 
skips back from the vault, plucks a pen from one 
ear and a pencil from the other, lays them down 
upon the rack of his inkstand, and then steps 
briskly across the floor again to the anteroom, 
whence he brings forth a gray overcoat with fur 



collar ; into this he quickly plunges, and sets a vis- 
orless sealskin cap daintily on his head. All these 
movements are swift and sure, but noiseless ; you 
would scarcely hear his step if you were in the 
counting-room ; he opens the door of the ante- 
room, and shuts it without any clatter; he is as 
spry and as sly and as silent as a humming-bird. 

Little ? Well, I should say so ! About five feet 
three in his high-heeled boots ; plump figure ; 
ruddy face with no suspicion of beard ; bright 
gray eyes ; curling chestnut hair ; nose like a 
Seckel pear, and pursy little bud of a mouth, 
ready on the shortest notice to blossom into a 
smile. How old? I give it up. If I should say 
that he is twenty, you would believe it ; and if I 
should put him down at forty, you would not dis- 
pute it. He is one of those plump, fresh, cheery 
people who never grow old. 

He has donned his overcoat, and stands pulling 
on his fur gloves and looking out of the window at 
the softly-falling snow before any of the clerks 
have discovered his movements. Then Finch, the 
paying-teller, looks up quickly and says with a 
smile: " Hello, Ben ! Off for the night ?" 

"Yes, and for the morrow, too," answers the 
little man in a chirping tone. 

" Of course. A good holiday to you, old chap ! 
You 've earned it, if anybody has." 

"Thank you, sir. Your saying so will help to 
make it merry." 

"Good-night, Ben!" 

" Merry Christmas, Ben ! " 

Such are the hearty words that follow him as he 
hurries away. It is evident that he is a favorite 
among his fellows. 

As he walks up the busy street, dodging the 
porters rushing out of the stores with boxes and 
bundles, and the shoppers hurrying home with 
their hands full of parcels, and their eyes still 
turning to the bright show-windows, he gets ever 
and anon a bow and a friendly word from the per- 
sons whom he meets — greetings which he returns 
with a sprightly courtesy. Two clerical-looking 
gentlemen pause and shake hands with him, the 
one introducing him to the other. It is Doctor 
Adams of the Third Presbyterian Church who 
knows the little man, and who tells his companion, 
after they have parted with him, something of his 
history. Let us listen: 

" Benoni Benaiah Benjamin, that is his name," 
says the Doctor laughing. 

" My, what a name ! " answers the other. " Is 
he a Hebrew, pray ? " 

" Oh, no ; he is the son of a Puritan Yankee who 

settled in Western Pennsylvania years ago. He 

was an only child, and his father and mother 

were killed in a railway accident when he was 

VOL. XIII. — 7. 

about twelve years old ; the company gave him a 
position as train newsboy and kept a kindly watch 
over him ; he was steady and frugal, saved his 
money and took a term or two at a commercial 
college ; then he took a place as bookkeeper in a 
bank down street, and has now been there ten years. 
He is a first-class bookkeeper and one of the best 
known and best loved men in the city. I don't 
know why he is so popular. He is very quiet, one 
of the properest little men you ever saw ; never 
says or does an undignified thing ; never takes 
a prominent part in public affairs ; never blows his 
trumpet on the streets when he bestows his alms, 
so nobody knows what charitable deeds he may do. 
though there is a general impression that he is a 
very generous giver. Whatever good he does, he 
manages to keep well hidden. I don't think I 
have another man in my church whose influence is, 
on the whole, more salutary and helpful, than that 
of little Ben Benjamin." 

Meantime the little man, whose ears might have 
burned if they had not been tingling with the keen 
Christmas frost, has turned into a broad avenue, 
and is hurrying homeward. The snow falls faster 
and faster; the sleighing, which was somewhat 
worn, will be thoroughly repaired. 

Through the gate that opens before a pretty 
cottage the little man passes, and lets himself in 
with a latch-key, at the front door. A kindly- 
faced old lady comes forward to meet him, takes 
from his hands his scarf and his cap, and leads 
him into the little drawing-room, where a bright 
fire is glowing in the grate. Good Mrs. Snowden 
has had Ben Benjamin as her sole boarder for 
ten years, and the business interest of the land- 
lady and the stately courtesy of the hostess are by 
this time wholly swallowed up in the motherly af- 
fection with which she has learned to regard him. 
He has taken in her heart the place that belonged 
to her own son, who died just before Ben came to 
live with her. The rocking-chair that he likes is 
drawn up by the fire and the evening paper lies 
within reach on a stand at his elbow. But the 
little man shows no interest in the news of the 
day ; his mind is evidently preoccupied. He sits 
with his feet upon the fender, looking into the 
blazing coals, and musing while the fire burns. 

" It is snowing fast, Mr. Benjamin," the land- 
lady ventures. 

"Very fast; fast enough to make a lovely 
Christmas counterpane in an hour. An inch or 
two must have fallen already." 

" Will you drive to-night, as usual ? " 

"Certainly; the ponies need the exercise, and 
I don't mind the snow." 

" When Thomas came in, after feeding the 
ponies," Mrs. Snowden continues, "he said that 

9 8 



an expressman had just brought a barrel addressed 
to you, to be left at the stable. Christmas gifts 
for the ponies, I dare say." 

" Likely enough ! " laughed Ben. " Of course 
Santa Claus would n't forget them." 

The maid now announces supper. After it is 
finished, Ben dons his overcoat and his warm Arc- 
tic overshoes, and is ready for his customary even- 
ing drive. 

14 Don't sit up for inc." he says carelessly to 
Mrs. Snowden. " I shall take a long drive to- 
night, and it maybe late before I return." 

The landlady lifts her eye-brows slightly ; this 
is unwonted behavior : but her confidence in her 
protege allows no questioning. So Ben sallies 
forth, bidding her good-night, and leaving her to 
speculate on his mysterious performance. 

It must, by this time, be as evident to my 
readers as it was to Mrs. Snowden that there is 
something unusual on the mind of our hero ; and 
it is impossible any longer to hide the secret which 
he has so carefully concealed. The truth is that 
this quiet, kindly, proper little man has determined 
that to-night, for once in his life, he will go off on 
a regular lark. He has been cherishing this 
purpose for three or four weeks. Perhaps the first 
suggestion of it came into his mind on the after- 
noon when the first snow fell. He was driving 
along Elm avenue in his cute little cutter, drawn 
by the prancing brown ponies that are now so well 
known in Smokopolis, when he heard, through 
the resonant air that often accompanies a snow- 
storm, a little girl standing on a corner say to her 
companion: "My! would n't he make a lovely 
Santa Claus ! " 

" Would n't he, though ! " exclaimed the other. 
" He's just the right size." 

" And what a jolly little face, too ! Only Santa 
Claus has whiskers, I think." 

Ben laughed softly, when he heard it, and then 
kept thinking it over. 

Would n't it be fun to be a veritable Santa Claus, 
and go about giving gifts? — not to take anybody 
into the secret, of course ; to surprise everybody with 
presents that nobody could account for ; or, per- 
haps, to let them have a glimpse of the messenger, 
hurriedly depositing his favors and swiftly departing, 
unheralded and unexplained. The more he thought 
of it, the more he was fascinated by the notion. 
But it would not do to attempt it here in Smok- 
opolis ; he would almost certainly be discovered. 
It could only be done in some secluded country 
place where there were no throngs and no gas-lamps 
on the streets. Springdale — that was the very- 
place ! It was a village thirteen miles north of the 
city ; one long street running east and west, crossed 
at its western extremitv bv the Gridiron Railway, 

andlying sheltered and secure from the noisesofthe 
world in a lovely valley, the abode of peace. The 
houses on either side the long street were well sep- 
arated ; and there was not enough movement on 
the street to interfere with such a shadowy visita- 
tion as Ben was contemplating. So the plan had 
gradually shaped itself in his mind. 

He would collect, one by one, a large number 
of gifts, of all sorts, suitable for old and young ; on 
Christmas eve, after dark, he would steal away to 
Springdale, watch his chances, and make his dis- 
tribution in ways that might then be opened to 
him. The barrel which had been delivered, that 
afternoon, at the stable, contained the store which 
was thus to be dispensed. He had purchased these 
gifts in many places : and had kept them in a 
private closet of his own in the basement of the 
bank building; the expressman had brought the 
barrel to the stable by his order. This is the secret 
that is hidden in the breast of Benoni Benaiah 
Benjamin, as he bids Mrs. Snowden good-night, 
and trots briskly down the garden-walk in the di- 
rection of the stable where the brown ponies, 
Dunder and Blixen, who know their master's step, 
are whinnying to give him greeting. These 
ponies are almost the only luxury little Ben allows 
himself; they have been in his possession now for 
four years ; and every day, after banking hours, 
Ben is whirling along some country road behind 
them, filling his lungs with the sweet air of the 
hills and his heart with the pure delight of motion. 

Ben opens the stable door and is greeted by an 
audible horse-giggle from the ponies, as they take 
from his fingers the accustomed lump of sugar with 
great gusto, and rub their brown cheeks against 
his red cheeks in a very loving fashion. 

Ben now lights his lantern, casts off his over- 
coat, seizes a hatchet and quickly unheads the 
mysterious barrel ; then he transfers its contents to 
his sleigh, carefully placing them so that he may 
easily lay his hands on them, — dolls in one pile, 
games in another, books by themselves, toys for the 
little folk in a separate heap ; two or three warm 
little shawls for the shoulders of old ladies (shawls 
such as Ben had given to his landlady last winter 
and found her often rejoicing in), and a variety of 
miscellaneous articles, of which he hopes to make 
some fitting disposal. From the bottom of the 
barrel he pulls out a white cap, made of the fur of 
the Arctic fox, and a flowing white wig and beard. 
Arrayed in these disguises, he glances at his face 
as revealed in the bit of looking-glass that Thomas 
keeps for his stable toilet, and breaks into a glee- 
ful laugh. Suddenly he checks himself, covers 
his mouth with his hands, and goes dancing 
across the stable floor. Such a jolly little Santa 
Claus as he is, with his keen eyes, his little dump- 



ling of a nose, and his red cheeks blooming out of 
this shock of white hair! His fur coat will com- 
plete the costume. 

" Hey, Dunder ! Ho, Blixen ! " he softly cries, 
as he confronts the ponies. " Did you ever see 
Santa Claus ? " 

The ponies answer with a snort, starting back 
in their stalls, but Ben's voice re-assures them. 
Quickly now he flings on the harness, from which 
he removes the bells ; and, tucking his gray fur 
lap-robe carefully around his treasures, he puts his 
lighted lantern between his feet, underneath the 
robe, and drives away. Out through the alley, 
across the street, and down another unfrequented 
lane he slips swiftly along, and soon is beyond the 
street-lamps, out in the open country. Dunder 
and Blixen are in their gayest mood; they fill 
their nostrils with the winter wind, and spin away 
right merrily. 

It is now about seven o'clock, and there are 
thirteen miles to cover ; but Ben does not wish to 
reach Springdale too early ; the ponies will easily 
make it by half-past eight. Dearborn Woods, a 
stretch of forest three miles long, lies just ahead 
of him ; and Dunder and Blixen plunge into its 
somber arches at a brisk pace. It is a familiar road 
to them, and they are wont to quicken their gait 
when they enter its shadows. Now the long-pent- 
up mirth of the little man can safely effervesce, 
and his cheery laugh rings through the woods in 
clear, melodious laughter. 

" Oho ! ho ! ho ! " lie cries ; " is n't this a jolly 
lark, indeed? Who would ever have suspected 
you, Benoni Benjamin, of cutting this kind of a 
caper ? What would Doctor Adams and the 
church folk say if they caught you in this ridic- 
ulous rig? But they wont catch you, eh? No; 
they wont. Ho ! ho ! ho ! The Doctor said one 
day, in the Bible class, that Ben in Hebrew words 
means son of something or other, Benoni Benaiah 
Benjamin, what are you the son of, to-night ? I 
have it. The College boys sing it: 

' I 'm the son of a son of a 
Son of a son of a 
Son of a gambolier.' 

That 's what I am ? Hey ! Oho ! ho! " 

The little man trolls this merry stave — it hap- 
pens to be all he knows of the song — over and 
over again, and laughs and shouts till Dunder 
and Blixen catch the infection, and, shaking their 
heads and snorting vociferously, they break into a 
gallop. — If there had been any elves or goblins in 
Dearborn Woods that night, they would surely 
have come forth from their hiding-places at the 
sound of Ben Benjamin's laughter ; but neither 
they nor any of human kind responded to his mer- 

riment, and when he emerged from the woods 
and the lights of the farm-houses began to re-ap- 
pear by the roadside, his jubilation was subdued 
to a merry little laugh, and the ponies sped over 
the snow with scarcely a sound. — 

The soft falling snow slowly increases in depth 
as they go northward, and the driver compels his 
eager coursers to take a more leisurely pace. At 
this rate, six or eight inches of snow will be added 
during the night to the well-worn sleighing — 
more than enough for Christmas uses. Thus far. 
Ben has neither met nor overtaken a single way- 
farer ; but, as he reaches the top of a long hill, he 
sees a light approaching from the direction of 
Springdale. It is Doctor Horton, the physician 
of that village, going out on some professional er- 
rand and carrying his lantern in his buggy. 

" Here's a go ! " says Ben to himself, " How 
shall we dodge that lantern? It 's some old covey 
that will want to talk, I '11 venture. Look alive 
there, Blixen; you and Dunder must get me oui 
of this." 

The light draws near, and as the horses meet, 
the Doctor turns the light of the lantern full upon 
Ben's face. His own eyes are as big as dollars. 

" Je-ru-sha ! " he exclaims (it is the only ex- 
pression of the sort he allows himself), "What's 
this anyhow ? " 

The passage is somewhat narrow, and Ben is 
giving strict attention to his ponies. His only an- 
swer is a little gurgling laugh. 

" Who are you ? What 's your name ? Where 
on earth did you come from ? " cries Doctor Hor- 
ton hurriedly, his voice quivering a little. 

" Oho ! ho ! ho ! " laughed Ben, with a tone as 
musical and as gay as the horns of Elfland. 

"Good-natured laugh!" says the Doctor; 
"nothing impish in that, I '11 guarantee." 

In a moment, the travelers are well past each 
other, and Ben's ponies are trotting down the 

" I say ! " cries the Doctor, turning on his seat 
and holding up his lantern. 

" Say on ! " cries Ben hilariously. 

" I 've a mind to follow," says the Doctor 
aloud, turning his horse's head. But Ben's little 
ponies spring into their best gait, showing the 
Doctor at once how vain it would be for him with 
his aged steed, to undertake the pursuit. Down 
the hill they go at a tearing pace, while the voice 
of Ben is borne back on the wings of the wind : 

"1 'm the son of a son of a 
Son of a son of a 
Son of a gambolier. " 

" Well," ejaculated the Doctor, drawing a long 
breath, "you are about the spryest little spook 




I have met in my travels. None of the Smokop- 
olis boys are likely to be off on this lonely road at 
this time of night, and you don't belong in Spring- 
dale, that I know. You 're a conundrum, and I 
give you up. But I don't believe that you are 
bent on mischief. Too gay a laugh, and too 
merry an eye for that." And turning his horse's 
head southward, the Doctor jogs on. 

After this Ben meets no travelers until he turns 
the corner, near the blacksmith shop, at the 
eastern extremity of Springdale street. Here a 
belated farmer, upon an empty wood-rack, scans 
the small establishment inquisitively, but it is 
dark, and Ben has flung the corner of his lap-robe 
over his head, so that the gaze of the curious rustic 
is scantily rewarded. Now he is driving down the 
village street, and the shafts of light are shot 
athwart the way, through the falling snow, from 
the windows of the houses on either side. In default 
of street lamps, all the villagers open their shutters 
and draw their curtains, in the winter evenings, 
that the light of the fireside may guide and cheer 
the traveler. 

It is now nine o'clock, for the deepening snow 
has somewhat retarded our amateur Santa Claus. 
But it is a very good time for him to make a 
reconnoissance of the village. Through these 
open windows he can gain many hints as to the 
best disposition of his bounty. He will drive 
carefully and slowly down on one side of the 
wide street and back on the other, keeping 
his eyes open and noting the houses; then 
he will go round again, a little later, and make 
his distribution. 

" Steady, Dunder ! Slowly, Blixen ! " he says 
softly: "let 's look a minute ! " They are stopping 
before a low, broad cottage, with sloping roof; a 
white-haired woman is sitting by the evening lamp. 
"That gray shoulder-shawl will fit you beautifully ! " 
says Ben. A little girl about eight years old is 
sitting by the side of the old lady — grandmother 
and granddaughter beyond a doubt : the maiden 
is working away for dear life on some bit of wors- 
ted, and glancing stealthily over her shoulder, now 
and then, at her father who sits reading on the 
other side of the table. "Good! " chuckles Ben, 
who takes in the situation, at a glance ; " you shall 
have one of the work-boxes, little Busy-fingers ! " 
So while the ponies stand, he writes by the 
light of his lantern, under the lap-robe, on two 
cards, " For the old Lady," and, "For the fair- 
haired Girl," — pins the one on the shawl, and 
shuts the other into the work-box; makes a bundle 
of them, and lays them together in a corner of the 
sleigh. So he goes from house to house, picking 
out the presents, slipping them into big paper bags 
that he has provided ; one bag for each house, 

and piling the bags in regular order in his sleigh. 
Some of the houses refuse to give him any clew to 
the age and quality of their occupants ; but before 
he has made the circuit of the street he has found 
places for all his small wares, and he feels well as- 
sured that the greater number of them will be fit- 
tingly bestowed. A good half-hour has been taken 
in this reconnoissance j when it is finished he 
scuds back toward the eastern end of the street to be- 
gin the distribution. Very few pedestrians have ap- 
peared on the sidewalks, and these he has managed 
to dodge by skillfully tarrying in the dark places 
between the houses until they were past. But now, 
a boy of ten, carrying a bundle, and whistling 
blithely, plunges out from the walk and cries : 

" Let me ride? " 

Ben is too good-natured to refuse, and the boy 
fastens himself to the side of the sleigh, clinging 
to his bundle. 

"Slick little team you have there," he says. 

"Well, I reckon !" answers Ben in his tuneful 

" Can they go ? " asks the boy. 

"Yes, pretty well for little fellows." 

Ben wishes to answer no more questions, so he 
quickly reverses the order of the colloquy and 
becomes inquisitor himself. 

" What's your name, boy ? " 

"Jack Kilbourne." 

"Any relation to Jack the Giant-Killer ? " 

"Oh, yes; I 'm his great-grandfather's second 
cousin," answers Jack, promptly. 

"Oho! ho!" laughs Ben. "You're an old 
one, you are ! Any younger ones at your 
house ?" 

' ' Yes, sir .' We 've a new boy baby there not four 
weeks old. And then there 's Sis ; she 's been up 
to Grandma's now for a month, and she 's comin' 
down to-night on the 'commodation. There 's 
the whistle, now ! " 

"Is she coming alone ? " 

" Yes; Uncle Tom 's put her on the train, and 
Papa will meet her at the depot." 

" What 's her name ? " 


" How old is she ? " 

'"Bout five or six, I guess." 

" Where do you live ? " 

"Right up there; big white house; left hand 

All the while, Jack's eyes have been on the 
ponies ; he has not once raised them to the driver's 
face, and he could have seen but little if he had, 
for they have been passing a space vacant of 
houses, where all was dark. But now, just as they 
are drawing near to Jack's home, the ruling pas- 
sion of the boy seizes its last chance to utter itself: 



" Let 's see 'em go ! " 

Nothing loth, Ben whistles to the ponies, and 
they spring at once into a rattling pace Jack is 
delighted, but his delight is only momentary ; they 
are opposite his house in ten seconds, and the 
ponies are reined in to let him dismount. He 
lifts his eye to the face of the charioteer just as 
the light from the window strikes it, and the look 
of amazement that overspreads his countenance 
tickles Ben to the very end of his toes. 

"Oho! ho! ho!" laughs the little man ; while 
the boy suddenly relaxes his hold upon the sleigh 
and tumbles backward into the snow. Quick as a 

" S-s-a-anta Claus ! " 

" Santa Claus? Where was he ? How do you 
know ? " asks the mother, her anxious look relax- 
ing into an expression of curiosity and amusement. 

" Right out here in the street. I rode up with 
him from down there by Billy Townsend's house." 

•'Rode with him? " 

" Y-y-es 'm ! I caught on his sleigh an' rode 
with him. He had the cutest little ponies ! " 

" What did he say to you?" queries Mrs. Kil- 
bourne, beginning to laugh. 

" D-don't know what he did say," stammers 
Jack ; " it scared everything out o' my head when 



flash he picks himself up and peers through the 
storm at the flying apparition. 

" Je-mi-ma Cripps ! " gasps Jack; " if that is n't 
the old fellow himself, then I hope I may never see 
him ! " 

The boy rushes into the house, while the little 
man speeds away to the upper end of the street to 
set forth on his benignant errand. 

" W-w-what d' ye think I saw just now?" cries 
Jack, bursting into his mother's room, his teeth 
fairly chattering. 

" Sh-h ! my son, you'll wake the baby. But 
what was it ? " asks the pale lady hurriedly, per- 
ceiving the boy's excitement. 

I saw him. Never looked up at all to see who it 
was till we were right opposite our house, 'n' then 
the light shone right into his face. My ! what 
a cunning little chap. I don't believe he 's more 
'n that high," — and Jack measures with his hand 
a stature less than his own, — "and his face and 
his eyes look as if he were about five years old, and 
his hair and whiskers look as if he were about five 
hundred; and he had a little fur cap and a fur 
coat, I think ; and he laughed, — you ought to 
have heard him laugh ! " 

" What made him laugh ? " 

" To see how s'pnsed I was, I guess. He asked 
me 'f I was any relation to Jack the Giant-Killer, 




V I told him I was his great-grandfather, or 
something. I thought he was poking fun at me, 
'n' I thought I 'd give him as good as he sent. 
Cracky ! If I 'd known who it was that I was talk- 
in' to, I 'd have been a little more pertickler 'bout 
what I said. He was a jolly little chap, anyhow." 

" O Jack ! " cries his mother, "your imagina- 
tion must have made most of this. I can hardly 
believe that you have really seen anything quite 
so strange as you describe." 

''Now, Mother Kilbourne ! " replies Jack, deeply 
grieved, and somewhat indignant ; " I guess I have 
eyes and ears ; and I guess I know what I see 
with my eyes, and hear with my ears ; and / tell 
you, it is just exactly as I 've told you. I never 
b 'lieved in Santa Claus before ; but when a fellow 
hangs on to his sleigh and rides with him a quar- 
ter of a mile or so, then he knows; and there's no 
use talking." 

" Well, my son, it is very curious, I admit. But I 
wish your father would come. He must have had 
time to walk here since the train arrived. Is it 
still snowing hard ? " asks the lady as she rises and 
walks slowly to the window, and, shutting her face 
between her hands, gazes out into the storm. 

" 'Deed it is ! " answers Jack. " Snow 's most 
up to my knees now. Sis will have a gay time 
wading though it." 

■'Your father will be obliged to carry her, I fear," 
replies Mrs. Kilbourne. " I think," she adds, after 
a moment, "that he must have stopped by the 
way at Judge Gray's ; I know that there was some 
matter of important business between them. Our 
little Lil will be very tired. I fear." 

Jack sits looking into the glowing grate, and 
asking his mother all sorts of questions about the 
legend of St. Nicholas ; who he was, anyhow ; 
if he was really a man ; and when he lived ; and 
how long ago ; and what he did ; and what about 
the Bible stories that tell of spirits and angels that 
appeared to men — a sharp fire of puzzling ques- 
tions, which his mother answers, dubiously and 
absently ; for her heart is a little troubled about 
the child for whose coming she waits impatiently. 

Meanwhile Ben is speeding upon his errand of 
good-will with many a merry experience. Halting 
his ponies in front of each favored house he seizes 
the parcel prepared for its inmates, runs to a lighted 
window, taps on the pane, holds aloft his treasure 
in full sight, makes a low bow, skips to the door 
and lays it down upon the sill, and then jumps into 
his cutter and is off in a twinkling. The children 
run to the window hall in terror, half in transport ; 
they gaze after the vanishing sprite, with their 
hearts in their mouths; then they go timidly to 
the door and take with undissembled glee the goods 
so mysteriously provided for them. As for the 

older folks, they are as much puzzled as the chil- 
dren ; no one can find any clew to the identity of 
this unearthly visitant. If Ben could have looked 
into all these homes, and could have heard the 
admiring outcries, and could have known how 
much of surprise and curiosity and innocent mirth 
and thankfulness his pranks were producing, he 
would have been fully satisfied with the success of 
his experiment. Finally he arrives in front of Mr. 
Kilbourne's gate, for he has reserved a part of his 
bounty for the children whose descriptive list Jack 
has given him. There is a light tap on the win- 
dow which opens upon the veranda, and Mrs. Kil- 
bourne starts. There he is, in full view, bowing 
low, waving his parcel in the air, then bounding 
away with the spring of an antelope. 

*' There, Mother Kilbourne ! " cries Jack, his 
teeth chattering again ; " n — now what have you 
to say ? " 

"Blessings on us !" exclaims the pale lady; 
" what does it mean ? " 

They reach the window, like all the rest, just in 
time to see the ponies trot away, and to verify 
Jack's description in every detail. 

" Well, I never ! " cries Mrs. Kilbourne. " Run 
to the door, Jack, and see what he has left ! " 

A rubber rattle for the baby, a volume of " Baby 
World" for Lil, and "Historic Boys" for Jack, — 
these were the gifts drawn forth from the paper 
bag with great delight and wonderment. 

"Now you'll own up, wont you, Mother?" 
demands Jack triumphantly. " I did n't imagine 
it all, did I ? " 

"No, Jack; you are a good reporter; your 
account was very accurate." 

" Well, how do you explain him ? " 

" I can't explain him," answers the mother. 
" I have n't the least idea who he is — some good 
being, I 'm sure." 

" Right you are ! " says Jack, in a tone the solem- 
nity of which strangely contrasts with his school- 
boy phraseology. "But here come Father and 
Lil ! " 

The boy runs to admit the tardy comers, but his 
father is alone. " Where 's Lil?" cries Jack, as he 
opens the door. 

"Isn't she here?" demands Mr. Kilbourne 

"No, sir; we thought you went to the station 
after her." 

Mr. Kilbourne pushes into the room, where the 
pale mother stands, trembling and anxious. 

" We shall find her soon," he says. "Didn't 
that Johnson boy bring you my note ? " 

"What note? No! Nobody brought any 
note," cries Mrs. Kilbourne. 

" The young rascal ! I sent him with a line to 



tell you that I could not leave my office at that 
hour, and that Jack must go to the train for Lillie." 

"And so the poor child found no one waiting 
for her there. Where can she have gone ? " 

"Wait !" cries the father. " I '11 telephone to 
Wilkinson at the depot. That 's where she is be- 
yond a doubt. He has taken her into his office 
to keep her till we arrive." 


Mr. Kilbourne rushes to the telephone. 

" Hello, Central ! Give me the Gridiron depot. 
That you, Wilkinson ? Kilbourne 's talking. Did 
my little girl come down on the accommodation 
train from Smokopolis? — What? — Did n't what?" 

Mr. Kilbourne turns away from the telephone 

rather pale, with an anxious look about his eyes; 
but, for his wife's sake, he says cheerfully : 

" Well ; Wilkinson says that he saw a little girl 
step off the rear end of the train ; the conductor 
helped her off and told her to run into the waiting- 
room ; Wilkinson had some baggage to look after, 
and when he was through with that, the child was 
nut of sight. He supposed that some one had 

come for her." 

" O my poor 
little lamb ! " 
cries the moth- 
er, piteously. 
"Where is she? 
Out in this mer- 
ciless storm i 
What shall I 
do ? " 

" Don't cry. 
Mother ! " says 
Jack, cheerily. 
" She 's down 
the street some- 
where ; she 's 
gone into some- 
body's house." 
"They would 
have sent us 
word," says 
Mrs. Kilbourne, 

"Well', we'll 
find her, any- 
how," says Jack. 
Mr. Kilbourne 
has been think- 
ing hard with 
knitted brows 
and compressed 
lips. Now he 
speaks : " Jack, 
you stay here, 
and take care 
of your mother. 
I '11 go down 
street. As soon 
as I get word 
of her, I '11 call 
to you from the 
nearest tele- 

He gently leads the trembling lady to the sofa, 
and turns to go. 

Hark ! the gate is opening ! There is a quick 
footstep on the porch. — on the veranda! Mr. Kil- 
bourne pauses ; Mrs. Kilbourne springs to her 
feet. There he is — the same little man, and Lil 




is in his arms ! He tosses her above his head ; he 
lets her gently down upon the veranda ; he makes 
the same low bow ; he springs from the porch and 
runs away. 

Mr. Kilbourne rushes to the door. 

" Hello ! " he cries. " Who are you, my friend? 
Say ! — wont you let me ?" 

But the little man is in the sleigh and the ponies 
are in motion. All they hear is Ben's laugh as he 
drives away. "Oho! ho! ho!" 

Mr. Kilbourne picks up the little girl, who stands 
half dazed upon the porch, and hurries into the 
house. Her mother clasps the child in her arms 
and covers her face with kisses. Poor little bairn ! 
Her garments are wet and her curls are matted 
with snow, but her eyes are bright. 

"Was n't it beautiful for Santa Claus to bring 
me home ? " she cries. 

" Yes, my darling ; where did he find you ?" 

" Oh, up here in the road. Papa was n't there 
when the train stopped, an' I was in such a hurry 
to go home, I started right off; an' I went along 
down that way, an' then I turned into the street." 

"The little midget!" exclaims Mr. Kilbourne, 
" she went off up Long Lane ! " 

" There was n't any houses," continues the little 
wanderer, "so I kept going on, an' on; an' it 
snowed so I could n't see ; an' by and by I came 
to another road, " 

"Yes, she must have turned out on the Smok- 
opolis road," shouts Jack. 

"An' I kept going on, an' then 1 was tired, 
an' I sat down on a log to rest, an' I heard a 
team coming, — and it was Santa Claus, — and he 
turned around an' brought me home." 

"How did he know where your home was?" 
asked the father. 

"Oh, he asked me what was my name, and I 
told him it was Lillie Kilbourne, and he said : 

" ' Oh, yes, I know where you live ! I 've been 
to your house once to-night.'" 

"How did you know it was Santa Claus?" 
asked her mother. 

" Why, I saw him, did n't I ? When he lifted 
up the robe to tuck me in, there was a lantern be- 
tween his legs, — he said it was his stove — an' 
the light shined right up into his face, an' I saw 
him as plain as anything. 'Sides, I asked him if 
he was n't Santa Claus, an' he laughed and said, 
' That 's what some folks call me ! ' " 

" I don't know whether he is a saint or an 
angel," says Mrs. Kilbourne, solemnly; "but this 
I know, my darling, he has been a messenger of 
good to us." 

" But what did he mean when he said he had 
been here before to-night ? " asks Mr. Kilbourne. 

Now it is Jack's turn to talk. While his 
mother strips off the wet garments and puts the 
little girl into her warm bed Jack rehearses to his 
father, open-eyed with wonder, the tale of the even- 
ing, with which we are familiar. His father listens, 
questions, shakes his head, and gives it up. 

Many of the gossips of Springdale wondered 
that night, and the next day, and are wondering 
still, over this mystery, but they are not likely 
soon to unravel it, for the ponies went leis- 
urely back that night to Smokopolis. It was 
about one o'clock when they began munching 
their oats in their comfortable stalls ; the wig and 
the beard that had formed so perfect a disguise 
were hidden in the granary ; the little man let 
himself softly in at Mrs. Snowden's frontdoor, and 
went noiselessly to his room. It was a happy 
heart that beat, on that early Christmas morning, 
in the breast of Benoni Benaiah Benjamin ; but 
the secret of its happiness will never be discovered, 
for his laughing lips will not open to reveal it, 
even in his dreams. 


By Charles Frederick Holder. 

Mount Lincoln is one of the very highest 
peaks in the Green Mountain range. Its base 
is clothed in a coat of the richest green ; but, up 
near the summit, the trees have been blasted by 
the rigorous storms of winter ; and at the very 
top all that is left is a congregation of gigantic 
gray bowlders, moss-covered and worn, lying piled 
one upon another, and even deserted by the soil 

that so firmly clasps them in the valley below. 
From these weather-worn rocks, a beautiful scene 
stretches away ; green valleys, like rivers of ver- 
dure, extend to the north and south, as far as the 
eye can reach. Away to the north lies Canada, 
while the silvery thread almost at our feet is Lake 

In summer, Mount Lincoln has many visitors ; 


but during the winter it is clothed in a great white 
cap of snow that lasts on into the spring months. 

The melting of this 
winter covering pro- 
vides water for innu- 
merable streams that 
start down the moun- 
tain-side, at first slow- 
ly, then gradually 
gaining force, unti 
finally, at the base 
of the mighty slope, 
they rush foaming 
along, leaping from 
rock to rock, as if in 
glee at their . 
escape • I 

steady-going streams which turn great mill- 
wheels, or float rafts of lumber, and seem to 

settle down 
to the sterner 
duties of life ; 
for these little- 
brooks appear 
almost like liv- 
ing creatures, 
so changeable 
are they in 
their moods. 

Many of 
these dashing 
brooks are 

famous trout- 
streams ; and 
not long since 
I followed one 
from the valley 
up the moun- 
tain ; and a 
rough tramp I 
found it ! The 
brook, that, if 
it had run in a 
straight line, 
would have 
been only three 
miles long, was 
really ten or 
twelve in 
its whole 

from the great snow-cap above. As the brooks 
descend, they are joined by others, and finally, 
in the valley below, they merge into solemn, 


and it constantly wound in and out, now among 
rocks almost impassable, and now through under- 
brush which seemed determined to make hat and 
coat part company. 

in fact, nature seemed to do her best to protect 
the little fishes that lived in the dark deep pools and 




eddies. The higher I climbed up the mountain, 
the more fish I found ; the stream became a suc- 
cession of falls, some of which were three feet or 
more in height — the brook in its track forming 
steps down the mountain — and I began to wonder 
how the fish came to be up there. 

In one pool, out of which led a direct fall of three 


feet, there were numbers of the richly tinted little 
creatures that, to have attained their position, must 
either have swum up the falls or gone around by 
land. After catching a number, I began to 
frighten the others to see what they would do. 
Some dashed at the little fall and disappeared, 
while others darted over and swam down stream. 
Still farther up 1 found the speckled game, until 
finally, the passage became so difficult, that I was 
obliged to turn back. 

In the village, I chanced to mention the subject 
to a friend who owned a mill on the same stream ; 
and he told me that the fishes' ascent was a puzzle 
to him, until one dav his boy called him out to the 

dam, where the riddle was solved. The dam was 
nearly four feet high, and to relieve the stream, 
several auger-holes had been bored in it, allowing 
a small stream of water to jet forcibly out and go 
splashing down into the clear pool below. As my 
friend approached the spot, and looked through 
the bushes, several large-sized trout were seen 
moving about under the mimic fall, evidently in 
great excitement, and darting into it as if enjoy- 
ing the splash and roar of the water. 

Suddenly, one of the fish made a quick rush 
that sent it up the falling stream, so that it almost 
gained the top ; but by an unlucky turn it was 
caught and thrown back into the pool, where it 
darted away, evidently much startled. 

Soon another made the attempt, darting at it 
like the first, and then rapidly swimming up the 
fall, but only to meet the fate of its predecessor. 
This was tried a number of times, until finally, a 
trout larger than the others made a dash, mounted 
the stream, and entered the round hole. The ob- 
servers were almost ready to clap their hands, but 
it was not successful yet. As the water stopped flow- 
ing for a moment, they saw that though the athletic 
trout had surmounted the fall, the hole was too 
small for it to pass through, and there the poor fish 
was lodged. The lookers-on hastened to relieve it, 
and found that its side or pectoral fins were caught 
in the wood, but by pushing the fish ahead, which 
you may be sure they did, they liberated it, and it 
darted away into the upper pond. 

Here, then, was the explanation. The trout 
climbed the mountain by swimming up the falls, 
darting up the foaming masses, and adopting every 
expedient to accomplish their journey. For these 
fish deposit their eggs high up stream, so that the 
young fry, when hatched, may not be disturbed by 
predatory fish and other foes living in the lower 

The salmon, the cousin of the trout, is famous 
for its method of going up stream ; it darts at falls 
ten or twelve feet high, leaps into the air and 
rushes up the falling water in a marvelous man- 
ner. So determined are the salmon to attain the 
high and safe waters, that in some localities nets 
are placed beneath the falls, into which the fish 
tumble in their repeated attempts to clear the 
hill of water. Other than human hunters, more- 
over, profit by these scrambles up-hill. Travelers 
report that on the banks of the Upper St. John 
River, in Canada, there was once a rock in which 
a large circular well, or pot-hole, had been worn 
by the action of the water. At the salmon season, 
this rock proved a favorite resort for bears ; and 
for a good reason. Having an especial taste for 
salmon, the bears would watch at the pot-hole, 
and as the salmon, dashing up the fall, were 



thrown by its force into the rocky basin, the bears 
would quickly scrape them out of the pot-hole, 
and the poor salmon would be eaten before they 
had time to wonder at this unlooked-for reception. 
The Dominion Government finally authorized a 
party of hunters to destroy the pot-hole, and thus 
break up the bears' fishing ground. 

Some of the South American cat-fishes are also 
so determined to go up stream that they adopt 
quite remarkable methods. As they are incased 
in a stiff armor, they can not jump, so they very 
deliberately leave the water, and using their side fins, 
which are provided with sharp spines, as feet, they 
crawl around the falls and enter the water above. 

il^il!lli:t!l-' l ''1!l#! (l ' ||l, ^*'r' ''*Ni#* V^Wv'flVi ,>; ' :'^^V'}'ft Wf 






7 'III' "/ ' 'i-| Mf 

^v^^miMe V/|X Let from Ike Lken old mill, ! J 
"$WWm liere's a slote -wUe the ferns have the way* of a S e* 

'i§S"f\\ is sUea u Uk *.a U 5o 5 fk 11L1 J „ 

* Willi trie note, now &nc3 then, of * bird s little frill, 
Gi- ike iJu^g, of ^ befuLd" Lee. I , 

ll jjeyond retire cool liillj, towerini" W|? ,* 


■ -,.r-;,, • yA^ below in trie fields, when 1 wWer dJane, 

! 'f" ^ : . 1 6jn iJww, imagining: wherefore &ncl -why 

If vou ceJl throudn the YAHey^our ver^y 5dMiie ay 

Will return in th< 

e very ^cjne tone . 

Iljliey Lve bold me I'll re&ch a more sensible state, 
yAjid Le Uuojit aJl «J>out it Jjy lesson and rule ; 

They Lve even exbkined it j^yet" somen ow I liale 
jtu\t mv lovely, nivvsterious Jlcho <s!"jou|d rale 

igf With the Lrd ill in 

ids* we hear o 

&t school! 

a would r&thep helieve it tie voice of A child 
"Whom I never m&y meetyWiom I never rri&y Kpovv; 
V/ho contentedly mm Lies-, when -seasons ^e mild 

Tfiroucii the Kea.rt' of the hills, where Ibe wooclknd ij'wil^ 

i88 5 .] 





/~\nd who mocks me 111 mii-m here below! 


llf;#f ;!l 'i : ^^W)'' ' 

— ?m 



50 in dreams 

{Lt the dreams abbeArti 




'l : ^ .And have A^kioned Ihe ace that nv/Hcha shot/Id ^Y 
\or lis |yas,I have borrowed fne flash of Ine dew, 
Tor its clieek/ttie bale pink opine wild-rose^ hue, 
y\ncl (lie sunshine m thre&ak.'for its HAir ! 

Jlil n trie sway of its form, lull op gfaarjuols and Trip, 
-^Are trie uendings oF boudiis that are'eafy and deeb; 

"In the laughter in at flows pom Ife delicate lips 
Are the murmurs of momincfS loncf breeze when .itTsliM 
"Jlirougri the cfeen worlcl AwaxingT from sfeeb I 

jj|J|[nere are so many jancies a word may octroy , ^ 

[nat I want this to live while it cnarms me &cheer 
let 1 freely confess twooldf lie move of a joy 
J^ 1 Knew Thau my jllfcho/slnce I am a> uoy) 
Y/ere a cfir[,cP about* my own vea^ | 








By Elizabeth Robins Pennell. 


I THINK, every one who reads and loves Mr. 
Thomas Hughes' celebrated story of ' ' Tom Brown's 
School Days at Rugby " ought to know at least the 
name of Laurence Sheriff. If it had not been 
for Laurence Sheriff, that book probably would 
never have been written. He was not a veiy great 
or famous man. He was a London grocer. But 
before he died, and just about the time when 
Shakespeare as a little boy was toddling through 
Stratford streets, Laurence Sheriff made a will, in 
which he gave a certain sum of money and part of 
his lands, that a school might be built in his native 
town of Rugby. It was to be a free school, he said, 
only for the children living in that part of the 
country, and it was to be ruled by " an honest, 
discreete, and learned man." 

And so Rugby School was founded. But for a 
long time the school was so badly managed and the 
number of scholars so small that no one could have 
imagined how great it was one day to become. 

After a while, however, matters began to improve. 

Some of the Sheriff property in London became 
very valuable, and as soon as there was enough 
money to engage more masters, more boys came 
to be taught. But now the same thing happened 
here that has occurred in nearly all the great pub- 
lic schools of England : sons of parents who were 
rich enough to pay for their education, were sent 
to Rugby, and before long they outnumbered the 
free scholars for whom the school was really found- 
ed. It was just about a hundred years ago that 
Rugby affairs were so much bettered. At that time, 
boys began to come to the school, not only from 
the little village that bore the same name, and from 
the other towns and villages of Warwickshire, but 
from all parts of England, so that when Doctor 
Arnold was made Head-master, Rugby School was 
quite a large institution. 

Who does not know of Doctor Arnold, "the 
strong, true man, and wise one too," of Tom 
Brown's wonderful story ? He was really and 
indeed as "honest, discreete and learned" a 


I I I 

school-master as Laurence Sheriff could have wished 
to see, and his life and work were among the chief 
influences that have made Rugby what it now is. 

Perhaps some of you, when reading about them 
have fancied that Tom Brown's adventures at 
Rugby were as unreal as those of Alice in Won- 
derland or of Puss in the Country of the Mar- 
quis of Carabas. But if you were to go to Rugby 
you would find, not only the same old battlemented 
towers, the same little studies, and the same tall 
elm-trees shading the play-grounds, but almost all 
the same old customs, during play and school- 
hours, of which Mr. Hughes writes. As in his 
day, the boys live in eight large "houses," fifty or 
sixty boarding in each, and each one being, as I 
suppose you know without my telling you, "The 
best 'house' in the school, out-and-out ! " There are 
plenty of Rugby boys who think now just as old 
Brooke thought in his day. It is no wonder this 
feeling is so strong. The boys who live in the same 
" house " have their games together, and always 
meet one another during the most sociable hours 
of the day ; that is to say, when they are gathered 
around the breakfast and dinner table, or when 
they have a little free time at their disposal after 

Even without seeing them, you must already 
feel at home in those cosy little dens, politely called 
" studies " ; and Mr. Hughes' book has made you 
equally familiar with the dormitories, with their 
rows of wash-stands and beds, where the boys 
sleep at night. At half-past six in the morning, 
those bedrooms are lively enough, and sleepy 
little boys pull on their clothes, and unwilling fags * 
hold themselves ready to run on the messages of 
that great man, the sixth-form boy. 

After this comes chapel at seven, followed fif- 
teen minutes later by first lesson, and then by 
breakfast at a quarter-past eight. Second and 
third lessons are held between a quarter after nine 
and half-past one, when the great bell begins to 
toll for dinner. There are two more lessons after 
dinner; and in the evening, when tea is over, 
the boys prepare their lessons, the younger pupils 
having tutors four evenings in the week, but the 
elder scholars always studying by themselves in 
their rooms. 

On the afternoons of Tuesday, Thursday, and 
Saturday, there are no lessons. Foot-ball or cricket 
or a long run across country takes their place. 
There is another half-holiday on every third Mon- 
day. No one knows exactly why this should be, but 
it is a very old custom, and one with which the 
boys, at all events, have never found fault. It is 
called "middle week." Work, to which it has 

pleased both boys and masters to give the name 
of pleasure, is really harder on half-holidays during 
the Christmas and spring terms than at any other 
time. For at once, after "calling-over," or "C. 
O. " in the school slang, all, except those who 
are declared by physicians to be too delicate, must 
join in the game of foot-ball or else run with the 
hares and hounds. It is as much their duty to do 
so as it is for them to go to their classes. 

Foot-ball is the great Rugby game, and is played 
principally during the Christmas term. "A 
Rugby boy," says a late head of the school- 
house, " looks forward to it in the summer and 
regrets it in the spring. He honors good foot-ball 
players and despises poor players. He will talk 
foot-ball in season and out of season." Rugby foot- 
ball is quite different from the Eton and Harrow 
game. It is much rougher, though Rugbeians now 
sigh over it, and declare that it is not played half so 
viciously as it used to be ! It is true that it has 
been shorn of some of its terrors since the days of 
the mighty contests between the Upper Bench, or 
first twelve of the sixth form, and the rest of the 


school, when the game became a battle, and the 
head-master had to interfere and stop the match, 
because it was so little like play. That was 
in the brave days of old. Those old ways have 
been changed. Not very long ago rules were 
made declaring that, "Though it is lawful to 

' Fagging" is a special feature of English school-life. The " fag " is a boy in one of the lower classes of the school, who does " menial 
service " for another boy in one of the higher classes, or " forms," as they are called. 

I 12 




Now, though I have 
told you that the Rugby 
game is different from 
the foot-ball usually 
played, I shall not at- 
tempt to describe that 
difference. It would be 
more thanuseless, when 
Tom Brown, who knew 
the game so well, has 
already given his enthu- 
siastic and glowing ac- 
count of a great school- 
house match. He has 
made Rugby classic 
ground in the annals of 
foot-ball. And still to 
be seen there are the 
"beautiful line of elms," 
and " the island in the 
farthest corner, " and the 
" gigantic gallows," 
and the three trees which are such a " tremendous 
place when the ball hangs there," as East said to 
his new friend Tom. You remember, too, how, 

hold any player in a maul, this holding does not 
include attempts to throttle or strangle, which are 
totally opposed to all the principles of the game." 
And again : 
"No one wear- 
ing projecting 
nails or iron 
plates on the 
soles or heels 
of his boots or 
shoes shall be 
allowed to 

play." This 
gives a pleasant 
idea of what the 
game once was. 
The very terms 
"mauling "and 
" scrimmage," 
still in use, show 
what the game 
now is in its 
milder form. 
You remember, 
I do not doubt, 
East's proud 
description : 
"Quite anoth- 
er thing from 
your private- 
school game. 
Why, there 's 

been two collar- THE Q UADRANGLE AND THE cloisters. 

bones broken this half and a dozen fellows lamed ; after dinner on every half-holiday, the boys in 
and last year a fellow had his leg broken ! " their white trousers come trooping out to the 

i88 5 .) 



play-ground for " punt-about," or practice-kick- 
ing; how, after " calling-over," at three o'clock, 
there is heard the cry " To the goals ! " and how, 
the next minute, all fall to with good-will. "And 
then follows rush upon rush and scrimmage upon 
scrimmage, the ball now driven through into the 
school-house quarters, 
and now into the school- 
goal." And any boy, 
who, after reading nil 
that eloquent descrip- 
tion, can not understand 
what the game is like, 
will not be helped by 
any words of mine. The 
only thing for him to do 
is, to go to Rugby on a 
Saturday afternoon and 
see a match for himself. 

The principal matches 
of the year are, those 
between the sixth form 
and the whole school, 
and that between the 
"Old Rugs" and the 
"Present," — when old 
Rugbeians, some gray- 
haired men, go to Rugby 
to meet their young suc- 
cessors in the game they 
have not ceased to love. 

The next most impor- 
tant amusement — or 
shall I say work? — is 
hare-and-hounds. Every 
boy is obliged to go on 
these runs just as he is 
obliged to play foot-ball, 
unless, of course, his 
physician has forbidden 
him to take this exer- 
cise. There are what 
are called " house " runs 
and " Big Side" runs, or 

those in which the whole school is represented. 
In the former, the smaller boys are helped by 
the older, so that they have an easy enough time ; 
but on the latter, " every man for himself" is the 
rule of the day. The ambitious little fellows who 
on these occasions think they can keep up with the 
older and bigger runners, are almost certain to 
share the fate of Tom Brown and East and the Tad- 
pole. And Tom's experience is, I think, that of 
every Rugbeian. The runs are necessarily made 
every year over the same ground, and in whichever 
direction the boys go, they must cross plowed fields 
or green meadows, with sheep scattering to every 

side; they must leap over hedges and brooks, mount 
little hills and jump ditches. And fortunate they 
are indeed, if the sun shines and the grass is dry 
and the roads hard ; for, in rainy England, in the 
winter and the early spring, the chances are that 
rain or fog will add to the trials of a run. These are 


well described in the following lines, a few of many 
written about the sport : 

! Jumping ditches, 
Scrambling hedges, 
Crossing over 
Swampy sedges; 
Over meadow, 
Swamp or fallow, 
Sometimes in the 
Mud we wallow ; 

Now on road, 
Now on grass, 
Through a spinney ' 
Then we pass, 
First a farm, 
Then a mill, 
Now go toiling 
Up a hill." 


is hard work, of course. Tiresome as the 
still are, the boys find real - pleasure and 
satisfaction in them. There is, for example, all 
the pride of coming in first, of gaining a reputa- 


* A small thicket, or grove, with undergrowth. (See page 115.) 




tion as a runner, or of being appointed the " holder 
of the bags." These are the bags in which the 
"hares" carry their paper, or "scent," and are 
looked upon as symbols of authority, so you can 
understand what an important person the holder 
of Big Side bags must be. 

The great run of the year is the school steeple- 
chase. Do you wish to know what it is like ? To 

In the summer term, foot-balls are put away, and 
school "bags" and "Big Side bags" also dis- 
appear. The game now is cricket. But Rugbeians 
have never been so famous at cricket as the boys 
of Eton or of Harrow. They have their good players 
and can boast of many great, and, of course, "un- 
equaled " matches, another fact which you know 
from your " Tom Brown." But Rugby boys do 


me it always suggests the famous race around 
Barnum's circus ring, which comes off at the end 
of the performance, when hurdles to be jumped 
and bags to be crept through and high fences to 
be climbed are put in the way of the runners. In 
the steeple-chase at Rugby, the course lies over the 
deepest places in brooks and the roughest bits in 
hedges, and he who wins the race must be not only 
a good jumper, but must have great powers of 
endurance. He must not mind soaked clothes and 
scratched legs, and he must be able to put up with 
great cold. For as the race is usually run in 
March, not even the exercise can take away the 
chill of a thorough ducking in the brook. 

not take as much interest in cricket as in foot- 
ball. Only those need play who like it, so that 
the number of cricketers is not always very 
large, as there are many other ways of finding 
amusement during the summer term. Racquet 
and fives-courts have their attractions. And then 
there are " botanical" and " geological," and "en- 
tomological" and "archaeological" societies, the 
members of which make them an excuse for lovely 
long rambles, supposed to be in pursuit of flowers, 
or butterflies, or fossils, or old churches. Then 
there are bicycles to be ridden, or walks to be 
taken through beautiful country, and between 
sweet hedge-rows, with perhaps the spires of Cov- 



entry or the towers of Warwick Castle rising in 
the distance; there are strolls by the " peonied 
and lilied brim " of the Avon, Shakespeare's 
river ; and there is excellent swimming in the fine 
new bath in school close, or else in a shady se- 
cluded pool of the little river, where, however, 
there is always danger of its being interrupted by 
the present "Velveteens" — (you remember how 
the old one caught Tom Brown at his swimming). — 
And there, too, is Rugby town itself to be ex- 
plored, though this last amusement, I must add, 
is not very exciting. A little stir and bustle there 
is in it once in a while, however, for it holds no 
less than fourteen cattle fairs during the year, and 
any young Rugbeian who has a taste for live stock 
has a good chance to develop it. Besides these 
pleasures, there are the Library and the Museum, 
the Gymnasium and the Workshops to be visited. 
The only limit to the independence of summer 
half-holidays is the " calling-over" at five. 

Do you remember how East, the old boy of six 
months' standing, made Tom Brown buy a new 
hat as soon as he arrived at Rugby, so the boys 
would not make fun of him ? Well, Rugbeians 

scarlet coats. But now they are only required to 
appear in dark suits of clothes, tall hats on dress 
occasions — for all English boys begin to wear tall 
hats as soon as they leave off skirts — and black 
and white straw hats at other times. For a boy's 
first three terms, the ribbon around this hat 
must be black; after that it can be of whatever 
color the wearer prefers. These little details, I can 
assure you, are quite as important in the eyes of Rug- 
beians as the division of the school into "forms." It 
is the same with the house colors for foot-ball. A 
boy would think it as great an offense to wear the 
colors of any other house than his own as to take 
his place in a form to which he did not belong. 

Another very important custom in which new- 
comers have to be instructed is that of fagging. 
They are purposely allowed a fortnight's grace that 
they may carefully study the duties exacted of them. 
It is with fagging as with foot-ball and hare- 
and-hounds. Its greatest days are past. Think 
of a boy having to warm three or four beds 
on a cold night by lying in them until the heat of 
his body had destroyed their chill, and then hav- 
ing to rise at four o'clock in the morning to run 

All' r ,L -'M 

Wi ' &m>i)'< 


are just as particular now. They seem to expect two miles to the Avon to attend to the fishing-lines 

new-comers to have learned beforehand all about of the sixth-form boys, and then to be back in time 

the Rugby customs in matters of dress. Once for first lesson ! Fancy his being obliged to form 

the boys wore little cocked hats and queues, to one of a team of four or twelve in harness, to be raced 

which those who belonged to the nobility added around the school-yard, or " close," by the praepos- 




boys must run, the last to arrive having to do the 
work. It is but for a short time, fortunately, that fag- 
ging is really a serious and perhaps tiresome duty. 
For the rule is that during a boy's first term, he must 
run at the first call ; during his second, he need 
only answer the second, and so on ; so that at 
the end of his second school year he has compara- 
tively little to do as a fag. 

Of course, I have not been able to say all 
that there is to be said about Rugby. A Rugbeian, 
indeed, would declare my sketch very imperfect. 
I have not even referred to the Debating and 
Shakespeare Societies, nor to the school magazine ; 
I have not described the great day in June when 
the sixth-form heroes of learning act Latin and 
Greek plays and the prizemen recite their com- 
positions ; nor the school concerts, nor the March 
Athletic Sports, nor the singing nights. Indeed, 
if I were to write about all those things, I should 
fill a volume. And so I have simply tried to give 
to my young readers, both American and English, 


tors of the Four-in-hand Club, and compelled 
to make flower-beds for the same mighty 
beings, having halfa pewter spoon and a whole 
fork for his only garden tools, and the flow- 
ers to be supplied by fair means or foul ! 
Yet these were a few of the services expected 
of fags in the days when " there were giants 
in the land," as a Rugby song says. Now 
they are treated with much more leniency. 
Only the sixth- form boys are allowed to have 
fags. The younger boys must wait on them 
at breakfast, tea, and supper, run their 
errands to the nearest pastry-cook 
shops, clean out their studies, 
attend to their wants in 
the dormitories, and 
sometimes "field" 
for them at 'j.' ,: .i • 

cricket. As TfAi-iVry 


in several other public schools, when the sixth- 
form boy or praepostor wants anything, he calls out 
" F-a-a-g ! " in answer to which call all the fagging 

a general idea of Rugby, which all Rugbeians will 
tell you, in the well-known words of old Brooke, is 
the " best school in England! " 


II 7 


By Edwin L>. Mead. 

RUGBY is the half-way station between Liver- 
pool and London — the place where the fast ex- 
press trains stop " five minutes for refreshments." 
I arrived there one 
summer morning, a 
few years ago, not by 
the fast express from 
Liverpool, but on the 
slow and very early 
train from Lichfield. 
A friend whom I 
shall call Sparks had 
agreed to meet me 
at noon at Rugby 

Rugby School is a 
mile from the station, 
and the road into the 
town was dusty and 
dreary enough. A 
few common - look- 
ing streets with high- 
sounding names 
branched from it. 

I found the school 
right in the middle 
of the town. The 
old buildings were 
of yellow brick, and 
surrounded a quad- 
rangle, with a great 
battlemented en- 
trance, over which 
a flag was flying. 

to show me the boys' studies and sleeping- rooms, 
while I waited for the old carpenter, who had the 
keys of the chapel. The " studies " are very small 




i B_ . 



On the left was the master's house. Back of 
the quadrangle were the chapel and a fine new- 
building containing recitation-rooms; and behind 
all was the great playground, shaded by grand old 
trees when I saw it, and affording pasture to hap- 
py-looking cows and sheep. No boys were to be 
seen, for it was vacation-time. 

The great gate was closed. So were other 
gates which I tried; but I made my way at last into 
a maze of rough rooms and alleys, which prob- 
ably belonged to the cook's department; having 
wandered about there and tried half a dozen doors 
without seeing anybody, I stumbled finally into the 
quadrangle, and walked about the rude old clois- 
ters which surround it and lead to the school-rooms. 
I heard steps in the halls above, and, going back 
to the kitchen, I found a woman there who offered 

but cozy, and the sleeping-rooms the plainest places 
in the world, with their rows of little unpainted 

The rooms vary in size, and all open into narrow 
halls. My guide pointed out the room where, in 
Mr. Hughes' story, Arthur said his prayers, and 
the room where, in Tom Brown's days, the old 
scholars used to toss the new boys in blankets. 
Everything was in the wildest confusion, for the 
half-yearly cleaning was going on. The studies 
looked as though rats had been at work in them, 
for the boys had made a great litter in packing for 
home. A few rooms were in good order, the books 
and pictures remaining in place, as the boys were 
to return to the same rooms in the autumn. The 
walls showed all sorts of tastes. Pictures of hunts 
and horses, and dogs, and game held a much more 




important place, of course, than 
they ever have in American 
schoolboys' rooms. Some of the 
walls were almost entirely covered 
with photographs of the royal 
family, Mr. Gladstone, or Mr. 
Disraeli and other prominent 
Englishmen, and of the boys' 
own fathers, and mothers, and 
brothers, and sisters, and friends 
— (especially, as our own school- 
boys will guess, young lady 
friends). When the book-shelves 
were filled, it was always with 
books of the best kind. I wish 
that some American boys could 
see them. The rooms which Tom 
Brown used to occupy were shown 
me, but they were not at all unlike 
the others. I had just finished 
the tour of the rooms, when the 
old carpenter appeared to take 
me to the chapel and to the other 
places of interest. 

He was a gentle, simple-heart- 
ed man, and when he found that 
what I wished to see was rather 
the Rugby of Doctor Arnold 
than the Rugby of Tom Brown, 
his whole soul wanned toward 
me, and he talked very feelingly of the old 
had been there when Arnold was 



teacher died. 

and was there when the celebrated 

He showed me how the chapel 
had been altered since Arnold's 
time. It used to be plain and 
small, but there are transepts 
now, and Arnold's grave, which 
was under the old altar, is now 
in front of the chancel. I stood 
and looked at it as you remember 
Tom Brown looked at it in those 
last pages of the story. A plain 
cross of gray marble in the floor, 
with the name, Thomas Arnold, 
is all that marks the grave ; but 
in the corner of one of the tran- 
septs is a fine monument, with a 
statue of Arnold in his robe, and 
bearin g an epitaph by Bunsen, the 
great German scholar, who was 
one of Arnold's dearest friends. 
In a little room by the main en- 
trance to the chapel are the table 
and chair which the Doctor used 
in the school-room. 

The old man said that Mr. 
Hughes — "Tom Brown," you 
know — still came to Rugby some- 
times ; and sometimes Dean 
Stanley came, and sometimes 
Matthew Arnold. My visit to 
Rugby was made some time be- 
fore Dean Stanley died. 

It was Dean Stanley who wrote the well-known 
"' Life of Doctor Ar- 
nold." Stanley was 
one of the Rugby boys 
in Tom Brown's own 
time ; one of the boys 
whom Doctor Arnold 
loved most ; and I re- 
member hearing that 
once, when he went 
to Rugby, he told the 
boys that, if he had 
done anything or been 
anything good in life, 
he owed it almost all 
to Doctor Arnold. 
Arnold's life always 
seemed to him, from 
boyhood to old age, 
the model life — a life 
combining the things 
most worth living for. 
Matthew Arnold, the 
distinguished poet and 
critic, is Doctor Arnold's son. Most of the older 
boys and girls who read this know that, and some 


i88 5 .] 


II 9 

of you, 1 am sure, have read Matthew Arnold's 
beautiful tribute to his father. The poem is 
called " Rugby Chapel," and these are the open- 
ing lines: 

" Coldly, sadly descends 

The autumn evening. The field 

Strewn with its dank yellow drifts 

Of withered leaves, and the elms, 

Fade into dimness apace, 

Silent ; hardly a shout 

From a few boys late at their play ! 

The lights come out in the street, 

In the school-room windows ; but cold, 

Solemn, uniighted, austere, 

Through the gathering darkness, arise 

The Chapel walls, in whose bounds 

Thou, my father, art laid. 

There thou dost lie. in the gloom 

Of the autumn evening." 

But it is a long poem, and it does not end in 
gloom. You can find it in the volume of Matthew 
Arnold's poems. 

I asked the old man to leave me alone in the 
chapel until my friend came. He would have 
shown any kindness to one who loved Dr. Arnold ; 
and in a moment the big key had turned in the 
chapel door, and I was alone in the solemn place. 
I walked up to the altar. Then I climbed into the 
old pulpit, where so much of Dr. Arnold's good 

work was done. 
The wind blew 
around the chapel, 
and soon up from 
the town came a 
chorus of steam- 

manfully into the busy world, seeking to carry 
to our brothers some truth for which they will 


be stronger; striving only to be better and wiser 
ourselves, that we may help others toward such a 
manhood as was that of Arnold of Rugby. 


whistles to remind me that moments of in- The bolt turned, and there was the old sexton, 
spiration and quickened feeling in solemn places with my friend Sparks. We made the tour of the 
are of little worth if they do not nerve us to go out chapel again, we walked over the great play-ground, 



[From the painting by Thomas Phillips, R. A. By permission of Mr. John Murray, London.] 



and then the man showed us through the school- 
rooms ; the laboratory, the natural history room, the 
music room, the drawing room, full of casts, and 
the plain recitation rooms. There was the old library 
full of musty books, with a bust of Arnold in the 
hall outside, and inside were portraits of him and of 
other masters. Finally, there was the little old room 
where Dr. Arnold used to hear the " sixth form," 
with its score of rude desks, all covered with the 
boys' names, cut in very big and very deep letters. 
Nothing pleases an old Rugby boy so much, the 
old man said, as to come back after many years 
and find his name where he had left it. The stu- 
dents seem to have full license in this matter, for 
half the rooms were cut and marked in a way 
which many school-teachers would have considered 
outrageous. But I found this custom repeated at 
Eton and Harrow. 

Another tour of the studies, taken for Sparks's 

sake. We saw the little armory, and the dining- 
room, with its two fire-places, which Tom Brown 
tells about. We went into the " great school- 
room," which is n't great and is very plain, with a 
battered old organ at one end, and the names 
of the " honor boys," of successive classes, painted 
on a big board at the other end. Among these 
names I noticed those of Stanley and Arthur Hugh 
Clough, the poet, and others known to fame. 

Finally we went around into the master's yard, 
and — as the family was away — we peeped intowhat 
used to be Dr. Arnold's parlor and into his study. 

That afternoon, Sparks hurried away to Warwick. 
I went to Stratford-on-Avon, and on the following 
Sunday we met again in London. We went to 
hear Dean Stanley preach in Westminster Abbey, 
and thought of the time when he and " Tom 
Brown " were boys together and heard Dr. Arnold 
preach in Rugby chapel. 

By George Klingle. 

Great-Grandfather Pritchet rubbed his 
spectacles right and left and up and down, and 
blew upon them, and set them astride of his nose, 
and took out his nippers and pincers and drivers, 
and gathered together the machinery of the new, 
big, bright engine with all the insides and out- 
sides of "a regular steamer," — which the boys 
had taken apart. And every one nudged and look- 
ed at every one else, for Great-grandfather Pritchet 
was a great man in his way. and nobody could have 
helped looking and nudging when smoke-stacks 
and boilers and shafts and pipes and pistons went 
into a hempen bag, and Grandfather Pritchet sat 
on the three-legged stool shaking them up. 

"What is that for, please?" ventured young 
Wilfred, chuckling a bit to himself. 

"I 'm shaking the engine together," was the 

"It will smash every single thing," muttered 

And Great-grandfather Pritchet looked askew 
from under the glasses astride of his nose and ex- 
claimed : "Odd! very odd!" 

So it was ; and every one was sure of it. 

" You said you would put it together," muttered 
Johannes, not very gleefully, "and you are shak- 
ing it to bits ! " 

"How 's that? Is it possible!" ejaculated 
Great-grandfather Pritchet, eying the bag out- 

side ; then glancing within, " No ; not a bit of 
it. Boy, you are mistaken ! It is but taking 
form : the parts are but selecting their attitudes ; 
they are but preparing to combine, — to slip into 
their appointed places." 

And the nippers and pincers and hammers and 
drivers lay coolly on the floor, while Great-grand- 
father Pritchet shook the bag as before. Johannes 
bit his lip and turned red in the face, and twirled 
about on his high heel, and his brothers whispered 
among themselves, waiting to see what was to come 

" It will be ruined, Grandfather, — ruined and 
broken to bits ! Please let me have the bag." 

"How! Why? For what? " inquired Great- 
grandfather Pritchet, calmly, as if amazed. " Will 
it not put itself together ? " 

"Why, how can it without hands?" "How 
can it without somebody to do it? " " It takes a 
head as well as hands to put a steam-engine to- 
gether ! " three voices exclaimed. 

Great-grandfather Pritchet looked gravely at his 

" A head as well as hands ? — in other words a 
man. That is odd enough, to be sure ! — But now 
answer me this : if it takes a head and hands to put 
a toy steam-engine together, what must it take to 
put a man together ? — man, who is a mass of won- 
derful tissues, nerves, muscles, bones ; man, who 




is sensitive and intelligent — breathing, moving, 
thinking ; man with his wonderful body continually 
reconstructing itself; so infinitely delicate in me- 
chanism that a pin's point of deviation from the 
proper arrangement gives anguish ; so wonderfully 
constructed that it moves in all its complicated 
ways without effort and without pain; — who is 
to put such a creature together? " 

And the three lads answered, " God." 
" Now, suppose I put this steam-engine together, 
and make it run smoothly," inquired Great-grand- 
father Pritchet, eying the bag, " what will you do 
for your part, Johannes ; for the steam-engine is 
yours ? " 

" I shall thank you very much, sir." 
Great-grandfather Pritchet stamped his foot with 
its buckled shoe, and Johannes knew that he had 
made the right answer. 

"There are four of us here whom God has put 
together. All our joints work ; all our hearts pump ; 
our lungs take in the air and puff it out ; our 

stomachs take charge of our food and deal it about 
to our wearing bodies ; our ears hear, our eyes 
enable us to see, and our brains carry on a world 
of business. Which of us has a misfitted joint, or 
a badly made bit of machinery, or finds anything 
at all wrong or out of place in his whole body? 
Why, not one of us ; not one of us, though I am 
not so brisk a runner as I once was — not a soul of 
us! And whom have we to thank? Put on your 
hats, boys ; the air outside, too, is clear and 
bright ; we shall not spend Thanksgiving morn- 
ing fitting steam-engines together when we have 
not thanked God that we are in comfortable work- 
ing order ourselves. Be quick now, and fly about ! " 
And Great-grandfather Pritchet stamped hard 
on the floor with his spry, bebuckled foot, till 
the boys started for their hats ; and the boys 
whisked about as though trying their joints, and 
Great-grandfather Pritchet hung the hempen bag 
on a nail, while he and the three younger Pritchets 
went to give thanks. 


By John Vance Cheney. 

Lazy clouds, so slowly floating. 

That would be my kind of boating, — 

Riding, gliding, high in air, 

Bound for — oh, for anywhere! 

Do you ever sail so far 

That you steer against a star? 

And the moon — Who turns you round 

When on her you 'd run aground? 

As the wild-goose quacks it South, 

Can you see inside his mouth ? 

When the bluebird brings the Spring, 

Is it pinned beneath his wing? 

Have you ever seen that town 

Where the sun stays when he 's down ? 

Is his hair all gold and curly? 

How does he get up so early ? 

Who lives 'way on yonder hill, 

Always talking when it 's still ? 

I wonder, oh, I do just wonder 

If you 've seen old growling Thunder . 

Can't he stop his children's clatter? 

Is he mad? — Or what 's the matter? 

Many queer things you must spy, 
Riding there, so wild and high, — 
Lazy clouds, so slowly floating, 
That would be my kind of boating. 

i88 5 .] 




By Ernest Whitney. 

One little grain in the sandy bars ; 
One little flower in a field of flowers ; 
One little star in a heaven of stars ; 
One little hour in a year of hours, — 
What if it makes or what if it mars? 

But the bar is built of the little grains ; 
And the little flowers make the meadows gay; 
And the little stars light the heavenly plains ; 
And the little hours of each little day 
Give to us all that life contains. 





(f /fA very benevolent boy Oho! 
ii ,.. " y^ very benevolent' boy .' 

^•He xaid , O I wish I had silver and c^old 
% Id fill a big house till no more it could hold 
'Vv'ith, evei'y nice candy and toy I 
I his exceedingly generous boy J 
/-\nd my Christmas dollar ? O pshaw i don't you fee ? 
I 11 have to Keep that to buy candy for me ! ' 5§35^ 
1Tii5 very benevolent bo_y \ 


Or, The Fruit of the Fragile Palm. 

By Fraxk R. Stockton. 

The " HORN 0' PLENTY" was a fine, big, old- 
fashioned ship, very high in the bow, very high in 
the stern, with a quarter-deck always carpeted 
in fine weather, because her captain could 
not see why one should not make himself com- 
fortable at sea as well as on land. Covajos 
Maroots was her captain, and a fine, jolly, 
old-fashioned, elderly sailor he was. " The Horn 
o' Plenty " always sailed upon one sea, and always 
between two ports, one on the west side of the sea, 
and one on the east. The port on the west was 
quite a large city, in which Captain Covajos had a 

married son, and the port on the east was another 
city in which he had a married daughter. In each 
family he had several grandchildren ; and, conse- 
quently, it was a great joy to the jolly old sailor to 
arrive at either port. The Captain was very par- 
ticular about his cargo, and the " Horno' Plenty" 
was generally laden with good things to eat, or 
sweet things to smell, or fine things to wear, or 
beautiful things to look at. Once a merchant 
brought to him some boxes of bitter aloes, and 
mustard plasters, but Captain Covajos refused to- 
take them into his ship. 



" I know," said he, "that such things are very 
useful and necessary at times, but you'd better 
send them over in some other vessel. The " Horn 
o' Plenty " has never carried anything that to look 
at, to taste, or to smell, did not delight the souls 
of old and young. I am sure you can not say that 
of these commodities. If I were to put such things 
on board my ship, it would break the spell which 
more than fifty savory voyages have thrown around 

There were sailors who sailed upon that sea who 
used to say that sometimes, when the weather was 
hazy and they could not see far, they would know 
they were about to meet the "Horn o' Plenty" 
before she came in sight ; her planks and timbers, 
and even her sails and masts had gradually become 
so filled with the odor of good things that the 
winds that blew over her were filled with an agree- 
able fragrance. 

There was another thing about which Captain 
Covajos was very particular ; he always liked to 
arrive at one of his ports a (ew days before Christ- 
mas. Never, in the course of his long life, had 
the old sailor spent a Christmas at sea; and now 
that he had his fine grandchildren to help make 
the holidays merry, it would have grieved him very 
much if he had been unable to reach one of his 
ports in good season. His jolly old vessel was 
generally heavily laden, and very slow, and there 
were many days of calms on that sea when she did 
not sail at all, so that her voyages were usually 
very, very long. But the Captain fixed the days 
of sailing so as to give himself plenty of time to 
get to the other end of his course before Christ- 
mas came around. 

One spring, however, he started too late, and 
when he was about the middle of his voyage, he 
called to him Baragat Bean, his old boatswain. 
This venerable sailor had been with the Captain 
ever since he had commanded the " Horn o' 
Plenty," and on important occasions he was always 
consulted in preference to the other officers, none 
of whom had served under Captain Covajos more 
than fifteen or twenty years. 

"Baragat," said the Captain, "we have just 
passed the Isle of Guinea-Hens. You can see its 
one mountain standing up against the sky to the 

"Aye, aye, sir," said old Baragat; "there she 
stands, the same as usual." 

" That makes it plain," said the Captain, " that 
we are not yet half-way across, and I am very 
much afraid that I shall not be able to reach my 
dear daughter's house before Christmas." 

"That would be doleful, indeed," said Baragat, 
"but I 've been afraid of something of the kind, 
for we 've had calms nearly every other day. and 

sometimes, when the wind did blow, it came from 
the wrong direction, and it 's my belief that the 
ship sailed backward." 

"That was very bad management," said the 
Captain. "The chief mate should have seen to 
it that the sails were turned in such a manner that 
the ship could not go backward. If that sort of 
thing happened often, it would become quite a 
serious affair." 

"But what is done can't be helped," said the 
boatswain, "and I don't see how you are ever 
going to get into port before Christmas." 

" Nor I either," said the Captain, gazing out 
over the sea. 

"It would give me a sad turn, sir," said Bar- 
agat, " to see you spend Christmas at sea; a thing 
you never did before, nor ever shall do, if I can 
help it. If you '11 take my advice, sir, you '11 turn 
around, and go back. It 's a shorter distance to 
the port we started from than to the one we are 
going to, and if we turn back now, I am sure we 
all shall be on shore before the holidays." 

"Go back to my son's house " exclaimed 

Captain Covajos, " where I was last winter ! Why, 
that would be like spending last Christmas over 
again ! " 

" But that would be better than having none at 
all, sir," said the boatswain, "and a Christmas at 
sea would be about equal to none." 

" Good ! " exclaimed the Captain. " I will give 
up the coming Christmas with my daughter and 
her children, and go back and spend last Christ- 
mas over again with my son and his dear boys and 
girls. Have the ship turned around immediately, 
Baragat, and tell the chief mate I do not wish to 
sail backward if it can possibly be avoided." 

For a week or more the " Horn o' Plenty" sailed 
back upon her track toward the city where dwelt 
the Captain's son. The weather was fine, the 
carpet was never taken up from the quarter-deck, 
and everything was going on very well, when a 
man, who happened to have an errand at one of 
the topmasts, came down, and reported that, far 
away to the north, he had seen a little open boat 
with some people in it. 

" Ah me ! " said Captain Covajos, " it must be 
some poor fellows who are shipwrecked. It will 
take us out of our course, but we must not leave 
them to their fate. Have the ship turned about, 
so that it will sail northward." 

It was not very long before they came up with 
the boat ; and, much to the Captain's surprise, he 
saw that it was filled with boys. 

"Who are you?" he cried as soon as he was 
near enough. " And where do you come from ? " 

"We are the First Class in Long Division," 
said the oldest bov, " and we are cast away. Have 

I 26 



you anything to eat that you can spare us ? We 
are almost famished." 

" We have plenty of everything," said the Cap- 
tain. "Come on board instantly, and all your 
wants shall be supplied." 

" How long have you been without food?" he 
asked, when the boys were on the deck of the 

" We have had nothing to eat since breakfast," 


said one of them ; " and it is now late in the after- 
noon. Some of us are nearly dead from starvation. " 

" It is very hard for boys to go so long without 
eating," said the good Captain. And leading 
them below, he soon set them to work upon a 
bountiful meal. 

Not until their hunger was fully satisfied did he 
ask them how they came to be cast away. 

"You see. sir," said the oldest boy, "that we 
and the Multiplication Class had a holiday to-day, 
and each class took a boat and determined to have 
a race, so as to settle, once for all, which was the 
highest branch of arithmetic, multiplication or 
long division. Our class rowed so hard that we 
entirely lost sight of the Multiplicationers, and 
were out of sight of everything ; so that, at last, we 
did not know which was the way back, and thus 
we became castaways." 

" Where is your school ? " asked the Captain. 

" It is on Apple Island," said the boy; "and, 
although it is along way off for a small boat with 
only four oars for nine boys, it can't be very far 
for a ship." 

" That is quite likely," said the Captain, " and 
we shall take you home. Baragat, tell the chief 
mate to have the vessel turned toward Apple 
Island, that we may restore these boys to their 
parents and guardians." 

Now, the chief mate had not the least idea in 
the world where Apple Island was, but he did not 
like to ask, because that would be confessing his 
ignorance ; so he steered his vessel toward a point 
where he believed he had once seen an island, 
which, probably, was the one in question. The 
" Horn o' Plenty " sailed in this direction all night, 
and when day broke, and there was no island in 
sight, she took another course ; and so sailed this 
way and that for six or seven days, 
without ever seeing a sign of land. 
All this time, the First Class in Long 
Division was as happy as it could 
be, for it was having a perfect holi- 
day ; fishing off the sides of the ves- 
sel, climbing up the ladders and 
ropes, and helping the sailors whistle 
for wind. But the Captain now be- 
gan to grow a little impatient, for he 
felt he was losing time ; so he sent 
for the chief mate, and said to him 
mildly but firmly : 

" I know it is out of the line of 
your duty to search for island schools, 
but, if you really think that you do not 
know where Apple Island lies, I wish 
you to say so, frankly and openly." 
" Frankly and openly," answered 
the mate, " I don't think I do." 
" Very well," said the Captain. " Now, that 
is a basis to work upon, and we know where we 
stand. You can take a little rest, and let the sec- 
ond mate find the island. But I can only give 
him three days in which to do it. We really have 
no time to spare." 

The second mate was very proud of the respon- 
sibility placed upon him, and immediately ordered 
the vessel to be steered due south. 

" One is just as likely," he said, " to find a to- 
tally unknown place by going straight ahead in a 
certain direction, as by sailing here, there, and 
everywhere. In this way, you really get over more 
water, and there is less wear and tear of the ship 
and rigging." 

So he sailed due south for two days, and at the 
end of that time they came in sight of land. This 
was quite a large island, and when they approached 
near enough, they saw upon its shores a very 
handsome city. 

" Is this Apple Island?" said Captain Covajos 
to the oldest boy. 

"Well, sir," answered the youth, "I am not 
sure I can say with certainty that I truly believe 
that it is ; but, I think, if we were to go on shore, 
the people there would be able to tell us how to go 
to Apple Island." 

" Very likely," said the good Captain ; " and we 


I 27 

shall go on shore and make inquiries. And it has 
struck me, Baragat, " he said, " that perhaps the 
merchants in the city where my son lives may be 
somewhat annoyed when the 'Horn' o' Plenty' 
comes back with all their goods on board, and not 
disposed of. Of course, not understanding my 
motives, they may be disposed to think ill of me. 
Consequently the idea has come into my head, that 
it might be a good thing to stop here for a time, 
and try to dispose of some of our merchandise. 
The city seems to be quite prosperous, and I have 
no doubt there are a number of merchants here." 
So the " Horn o' Plenty " was soon anchored in 
the harbor, and as many of the officers and crew 
as could be spared went on shore to make inquir- 
ies. Of course the First Class in Long Division 
was not left behind ; and, indeed, they were ashore 
as soon as anybody. The Captain and his com- 
panions were cordially welcomed by some of the 
dignitaries of the city who had come down to the 
harbor to see the strange vessel ; but no one could 
give any information in regard to Apple Island, 
the name of which had never been heard on those 

der palm-tree, which has been growing there for 
hundreds of years. It bears large and handsome 
fruit which is something like the cocoanut ; and, 
in its perfection, is said to be a transcendently de- 
licious fruit." 

"Said to be!" exclaimed the Captain; ''are 
you not positive about it? " 

" No," said the other ; "no one living has ever 
tasted the fruit in its perfection. When it becomes 
overripe, it drops to the ground, and, even then, 
it is considered royal property, and is taken to the 
palace for the King's table. But on fete-days and 
grand occasions small bits of it are distributed to 
the populace." 

" Why don't you pick the fruit," asked Captain 
Covajos, " when it is in its best condition to eat?" 

" It would be impossible," said the citizen, " for 
any one to climb up that tree, the trunk of which 
is so extremely delicate and fragile that the weight 
of a man would probably snap it; and, of course, 
a ladder placed against it would produce the same 
result. Many attempts have been made to secure 
this fruit at the proper season, but all of them 


shores. The Captain was naturally desirous of 
knowing at what place he had landed, and was in- 
formed that this was the Island of the Fragile Palm. 

" That is rather an odd name," said the old 
Captain. " Why is it so called?" 

" The reason is this," said his informant. "Near 
the center of the island stands a tall and very slen- 

have failed. Another palm-tree of a more robust 
sort was once planted near this one in the hope 
that when it grew high enough, men could climb 
up the stronger tree and get the fruit from the 
other. But, although we waited many years the 
second tree never attained sufficient height, and it 
was cut down." 





" It is a great pity, " said the Captain; "but I 
suppose it can't be helped." And then he began 
to make inquiries about the merchants in the place, 
and what probability there was of his doing a little 
trade here. The Captain soon discovered that the 
cargo of his ship was made up of goods which 
were greatly desired by the citizens of this place : 
and for several days he was very busy in selling 
the good things to eat, the sweet things to smell, 
the fine things to wear, and the beautiful things to 
look at, w-ith which the hold of the " Horn o' 
Plenty " was crowded. 

During this time the First Class in Long Divi- 
sion roamed, in delight, over the city. The busy 
streets, the shops, the handsome buildings, and 
the queer sights which they occasionally met, inter- 
ested and amused them greatly. But still the boys 
were not satisfied. They had heard of the Fragile 
Palm, and they made up their minds to go 
and have a look at it. Therefore, taking a guide, 
they tramped out into the country, and in about 
an hour they came in sight of the beautiful tree 
standing in the center of the plain. The trunk 
was, indeed, exceedingly slender, and, as the 
guide informed them, the wood was of so very brit- 
tle a nature that if the tree had not been protect- 
ed from the winds by the high hills which encir- 
cled it, it would have been snapped off ages ago. 
Under the broad tuft of leaves that formed its top, 
the boys saw hanging large clusters of the precious 
fruit ; great nuts as big as their heads. 

" At what time of the year," asked the oldest 
boy, "is that fruit just ripe enough to eat?" 

"Now," answered the guide. "This is the 
season when it is in the most perfect condition. 
In about a month it will become entirely too ripe 
and soft, and will drop. But, even then, the King 
and all the rest of us are glad enough to get a taste 
of it." 

" I should think the King would be exceedingly 
eager to get some of it, just as it is," said the boy. 

" Indeed he is ! " replied the guide. " He and 
his father, and I don't know how many grandfathers 
back, have offered large rewards to any one who 
would procure them this fruit in its best condition. 
But nobody has ever been able to get any yet." 

" The reward still holds good, I suppose," said 
the head boy. 

"Oh, yes," answered the guide; "there never 
was a King who so much desired to taste the fruit as 
our present monarch." 

The oldest boy looked up at the top of the tree, 
shut one eye, and gave his head alittle wag. And 
every boy in the class looked up, shut one eye, and 
slightly wagged his head. After which the oldest 
boy said that he thought it was about time for 
them to go back to the ship. 

As soon as they reached the vessel, and could 
talk together freely, the boys had an animated dis- 
cussion. It was unanimously agreed that they would 
make an attempt to get some of the precious fruit 
from the Fragile Palm, and the only difference of 
opinion among them was as to how it should be 
done. Most of them were in favor of some method 
of climbing the tree and trusting to its not break- 
ing. But this the oldest boy would not listen to ; 
the trunk might snap, and then somebody would 
be hurt, and he felt, in a measure, responsible for 
the rest of the class. At length a good plan was 
proposed by a boy who had studied mechanics. 

" What we ought to do with that tree," said he, 
"is to put a hinge into her. Then we could let 
her down gently, pick off the fruit, and set her up 

" But how are you going to do it?" asked the 

" This is the way," said the boy who had stud- 
ied mechanics. "You take a saw, and then, about 
two feet from the ground, you begin and saw down 
diagonally, for a foot and a half, to the center of 
the trunk. Then you go on the other side, and 
saw down in the same way, the two cuts meeting 
each other. Now you have the upper part of the 
trunk ending in a wedge, which fits into a cleft in 
the lower part of the trunk. Then, about nine 
inches below the place where you first began to 
saw, you bore a hole straight through both sides 
of the cleft and the wedge between them. Then 
you put an iron bolt through this hole, and you 
have your tree on a hinge, only she wont be apt 
to move because she fits in so snug and tight. 
Then you get a long rope, and put one end in a 
slip-knot loosely around the trunk. Then you get 
a lot of poles, and tie them end to end, and push 
this slip-knot up until it is somewhere near the 
top, when you pull it tight. Then you take 
another rope with a slip-knot, and push this a 
little more than half-way up the trunk. By having 
two ropes, that way, you prevent too much strain 
coming on any one part of the trunk. Then, after 
that, you take a mallet and chisel and round off 
the corners of the wedge, so that it will turn easily 
in the cleft. Then we take hold of the ropes, let 
her down gently, pick off the fruit, and haul her 
up again. That will all be easy enough." 

This plan delighted the boys, and they all pro- 
nounced in its favor; but the oldest one suggested 
that it would be better to fasten the ropes to the 
trunk before they began to saw upon it, and 
another boy asked how they were going to keep 
the tree standing when they hauled her up again. 

"Oh, that is easy enough," said the one who 
had studied mechanics: "you just bore another 
hole about six inches above the first one, and 

i88 5 .] 


I 29 

put in another bolt. Then, of course, she can't 

This settled all the difficulties, and it was agreed 
to start out early the next morning, gather the 
fruit, and claim the reward the King had offered. 
They accordingly went to the Captain and 
asked him for a sharp saw, a mallet and chisel, 
an auger, two iron bolts, and two very long 
ropes. These, having been cheerfully given 
to them, were put away in readiness for the 
morrow and the work to be attempted. 

Very early on the next morning, the 
First Class in Long Division set out 
for the Fragile Palm, carrying their 
tools and ropes. Few people were 
awake as they passed through the 
city, and, without being observ- 
ed, they reached the little plain 
on which the tree stood. The ropes were attached 
at the proper places, the tree was sawn, diagonally, 
according to the plan ; the bolt was put in , and the cor- 
ners of the wedge were rounded off. Then the eldest 
boy produced a pound of butter, whereupon his com- 
rades, who had seized the ropes, paused in astonish- 
ment and asked him why he had brought the butter. 

"I thought it well," was the reply, "to bring 
along some butter, because, when 

of the long ropes, while another one with a pole 
pushed against the trunk of the Fragile Palm. 
When it began to lean over a little, he dropped 
his pole and ran to help the 
others with the ropes. Slowly 
the tree moved on its hinge, 
descending at first very gradu- 
ally ; but it soon began to move 
with greater rapidity, although the 
boys held it back with all their 
strength ; and, despite their most des- 
perate efforts, the top came to the ground 
at last with quite a great thump. And 
then they all dropped their ropes, and ran 
for the fruit. Fortunately the great nuts 
encased in their strong husks were not in the 
least injured, and the boys soon pulled them 
off, about forty in all. Some of the boys were in 
favor of cracking open a few of the nuts and eat- 
ing them, but this the eldest boy positively forbade. 
" This fruit," he said, " is looked upon as al- 
most sacred, and if we were to eat any of it, it is 
probable that we would be put to death, which 
would be extremely awkward for fellows who have 
gone to all the trouble we have had. We must set 
up the tree and carry the fruit to the King." 

According to this advice, they thoroughly greased 

the tree is down, we can grease the hinge 
then it will not be so hard to pull it up again." 
When all was ready, eight of the bovs took hold 
Vol.. XIII.— 9. 



the hinge in the tree with the butter, and then 
set themselves to work to haul up the trunk. This, 
however, was much more difficult than letting it 





down; and they had to lift up the head of it, and 
prop it up on poles, before they could pull upon 
it with advantage. The tree, although tall, was 
indeed a very slender one, with a small top, and, 
if it had been as fragile as it was supposed to be, 
the boys' efforts would surely have broken it. At 
last, after much tugging and warm work, they 
pulled it into an upright position, and put in the 
second bolt. They left the ropes on the tree be- 
cause, as some of them had suggested, the people 
might want to let the tree down again the next year. 
It would have been difficult for the boys to carry in 
their arms the great pile of fruit they had gathered ; 
but, having noticed a basket-maker's cottage on 
their way to the tree, two of them were sent to 
buy one of his largest baskets, or hampers. This 
was attached to two long poles, and, having been 
filled with the nuts, the boys took the poles on 
their shoulders, and marched into the city. 

On their way to the palace they attracted a 
great crowd, and when they were ushered into the 
presence of the King, his surprise and delight 
knew no bounds. At first he could scarcely be- 
lieve his eyes ; but he had seen the fruit so often 
that there could be no mistake about it. 

" I shall not ask you," he said to the boys, " how 
you procured this fruit, and thus accomplished a 
deed which has been the object of the ambition of 
myself and my forefathers. All I ask is, did you 
leave the tree standing ? " 

" We did," said the boys. 

"Then all that remains to be done," said His 
Majesty, "is to give you the reward you have so 
nobly earned. Treasurer, measure out to each of 
them a quart of gold coin. And pray be quick about 
it, for I am wild with desire to have a table spread, 
and one of these nuts cracked, that I may taste of 
its luscious contents." 

The boys, however, appeared a little dissatisfied. 
Huddling together, they consulted in a low tone, 
and then the eldest boy addressed the King. 

"May it please your Majesty," he said; "we 
should very much prefer to have you give each of 
us one of those nuts instead of a quart of gold." 

The King looked grave. " This is a much greater 
reward," he said, " than I had ever expected to 
pay ; but, since you ask it, you must have it. You 
have done something which none of my subjects 
has ever been able to accomplish, and it is right, 
therefore, that you should be fully satisfied." 

So he gave them each a nut, with which they 
departed in triumph to the ship. 

By the afternoon of the next day, the Captain 
had sold nearly all his cargo at very good prices ; 
and when the money was safely stored away in the 
" Horn o' Plenty," he made ready to sail, for he de- 
clared he had really no time to spare. " I must 

now make all possible haste," he said to old Bara- 
gat, " to find Apple Island, put these boys ashore, 
and then speed away to the city where lives mv 
son. We must not fail to get there in time to 
spend last Christmas over again." 

On the second day, after the " Horn o' Plenty " 
had left the Island of the Fragile Palm, one of the 
sailors who happened to be aloft noticed a low, 
black, and exceedingly unpleasant-looking vessel 
rapidly approaching. This soon proved to be the 
ship of a band of corsairs, who, having heard of the 
large amount of money on the " Horn o' Plenty," 
had determined to pursue her and capture the 
rich prize. All sail was set upon the "Horn o' 
Plenty," but it soon became plain that she could 
never outsail the corsair vessel. 

"What our ship can do better than anything 
else," said Baragat to the Captain, "is to stop 
short. Stop her short, and let the other one go by." 

This maneuver was executed, but, although the 
corsair passed rapidly by, not being able to stop 
so suddenly, it soon turned around and came back, 
its decks swarming with savage men armed to the 

" They are going to board us," cried Baragat. 
'■ They are getting out their grappling-irons, and 
they will fasten the two ships together." 

"Let all assemble on the quarter-deck," said 
the Captain. "It is higher there, and we shall 
not be so much exposed to accidents. Nothing is 
so unsafe as to put one's self in the way of a body 
of men like those impetuous fellows." 

The corsair ship soon ran alongside the " Horn 
o' Plenty," and in a moment the two vessels were 
fastened together ; and then the corsairs, every 
man of them, each with cutlass in hand and a belt 
full of dirks and knives, swarmed up the side of 
the " Horn o' Plenty " and sprang upon its central 
deck. Some of the ferocious fellows, seeing the 
officers and crew all huddled together upon the 
quarter-deck, made a movement in that direc- 
tion. This so frightened the chief mate that he 
sprang down upon the deck of the corsair ship. 
A panic now arose, and he was immediately fol- 
lowed by the officers and crew. The boys, of course, 
were not to be left behind ; and the Captain and 
Baragat felt themselves bound not to desert the 
crew, and so they jumped also. None of the cor- 
sairs interfered with this proceeding, for each one 
of them was anxious to find the money at once. 
When the passengers and crew of the " Horn o' 
Plenty," were all on board the corsair ship, Bara- 
gat came to the Captain, and said : 

" If I were you, sir, I 'd cast off those grapnels, 
and separate the vessels. When those rascals 
have finished robbing our money-chests, they will 
come back here and murder us all." 



" That is a good idea," said Captain Covajos ; 
and he told the chief mate to give orders to cast 
off the grapnels, push the two vessels apart, and 
set some of the sails. 

When this had been done, the corsair vessel be- 
gan to move away from the other, and was soon 
many lengths distant from her. When the cor- 
sairs came on deck and perceived what had hap- 
pened, they were infuriated, and immediately 
began to pursue their own vessel with the one they 
had captured. But the " Horn o' Plenty" could 
not, by any possibility, sail as fast as the corsair 
ship, and the latter easily kept away from her. 

" Now, then," said Baragat to the Captain, 
" what you have to do is easy enough. Sail straight 
for our port and those sea-robbers will follow you ; 
for, of course, they will wish to get their own vessel 
back again, and will hope, by some carelessness on 
our part, to overtake us. In the meantime the 
money will be safe enough, for they will have no 
opportunity of spending" it ; and when we come to 
port, we can take some soldiers on board, and go 
back and capture those fellows. They can never 
sail away from us on the " Horn o' Plenty." 

•' That is an admirable plan," said the Cap- 
tain, " and I shall carry it out ; but I can not sail to 
port immediately. I must first find Apple Island 
and land these boys, whose parents and guardians 
are probably growing very uneasy. I suppose 
the corsairs will continue to follow us wherever 
we go." 

" I hope so," said Baragat ; " at any rate we 
shall see." 

The First Class in Long Division was very much 
delighted with the change of vessels, and the boys 
rambled everywhere, and examined with great in- 
terest all that belonged to the corsairs. They felt 
quite easy about the only treasures they possessed, 
because, when they had first seen the piratical 
vessel approaching, they had taken the precious 
nuts which had been given to them by the King, 
and had hidden them at the bottom of some large 
boxes, in which the Captain kept the sailors' win- 
ter clothes. 

"In this warm climate," said the eldest boy, 
" the robbers will never meddle with those winter 
clothes, and our precious fruit will be perfectly 

" If you had taken my advice," said one of the 
other boys, "we should have eaten some of the 
nuts. Those, at least, weshouldhave been sure of. " 

" And we should have had that many less to 
show to the other classes," said the eldest boy. 
"Nuts like these, I am told, if picked at the 
proper season, will keep for a long time." 

For some days the corsairs on board the " Horn 
o' Plenty " followed their own vessel, but then 

they seemed to despair of ever being able to over- 
take it, and steered in another direction. This 
threatened to ruin all the plans of Captain Cova- 
jos, and his mind became troubled. Then the boy 
who had studied mechanics came forward and said 
to the Captain : 

■' I '11 tell you what I 'd do, sir, if 1 were you ; 
I 'd follow your old ship, and when night came on 
I 'd sail up quite near to her, and let some of your 
sailors swim quietly over, and fasten a cable to her, 
and then you could tow her after you wherever 
you wished to go." 

"But they might unfasten the cable, or cut it," 
said Baragat, who was standing by. 

" That could easily be prevented," said the boy. 
" At their end of the cable must be a stout chain 
which they can not cut, and it must be fastened so 
far beneath the surface of the water that they will 
not be able to reach it to unfasten it." 

"A most excellent plan," said Captain Covajos ; 
" let it be carried out." 

As soon as it became quite dark, the corsair ves- 
sel quietly approached the other, and two stout 
sailors from Finland, who swam very well, were 
ordered to swim over and attach the chain-end of 
a long cable to the " Horn o' Plenty." It was a 
very difficult operation, for the chain was heavy, 
but the men succeeded at last, and returned to 

" We put the chain on, fast and strong, sir," 
they said to the Captain ; " and six feet under 
water. But the only place we could find to make 
it fast to was the bottom of the rudder." 

"That will do very well," remarked Baragat; 
"for the 'Horn o' Plenty' sails better backward 
than forward, and will not be so hard to tow." 

For week after week, and month after month, 
Captain Covajos, in the corsair vessel, sailed here 
and there in search of Apple Island, always towing 
after him the "Horn o' Plenty," with the corsairs 
on board, but never an island with a school on it 
could they find ; and one day old Baragat came to 
the Captain and said : 

" If I were you, sir, I 'd sail no more in these 
warm regions. I am quite sure that apples grow 
in colder latitudes, and are never found so far 
south as this." 

"That is a good idea," said Captain Covajos. 
" We should sail for the north if we wish to find an 
island of apples. Have the vessel turned north- 

And so, for days and weeks, the two vessels 
slowly moved on to the north. One day the Cap- 
tain made some observations and calculations, and 
then he hastily summoned Baragat. 

"Do you know," said he, "that I find it is 
now near the end of November, and I am quite 



certain that we shall not get to the port where my 
son lives in time to celebrate last Christmas again. 
It is dreadfully slow work, towing after us the 
' Horn o' Plenty,' full of corsairs, wherever we 
go. But we can not cast her off and sail straight 
for our port, for I should lose my good ship, the 

(SEE PAGE 130.) 

merchants would lose all their money, and the 
corsairs would go unpunished ; and, besides all 
that, think cf the misery of the parents and guar- 
dians of those poor boys. No ; I must endeavor 
to find Apple Island. And if I can not reach port 
in time to spend last Christmas with my son, I 
shall certainly get there in season for Christmas 
before last. It is true that I spent that Christmas 
with my daughter, but I can not go on to her now. 
I am much nearer the city where my son lives : 
and, besides, it is necessary to go back, and give 
the merchants their money. So now we shall have 
plenty of time, and need not feel hurried." 

"No," said Baragat, heaving a vast sigh, "we 
need not feel hurried." 

The mind of the eldest boy now became very 
much troubled, and he called his companions 
about him. "I don't like at all," said he, "this 

sailing to the north. It is now November, and, 
although it is warm enough at this season in the 
southern part of the sea, it will become colder and 
colder as we go on. The consequence of this will 
be that those corsairs will want winter clothes, 
they will take them out of the Captain's chests, 
and they will find our fruit." 

The boys groaned. " That is true," said 
one of them; "but still we wish to go 
back to our island." 

"Of course," said the eldest boy, "it is 
quite proper that we should return to Long 
Division. But think of the hard work we 
did to get that fruit, and think of the quarts 
of gold we gave up for it ! It would be too 
bad to lose it now ! " 

It was unanimously agreed that it would 
be too bad to lose the fruit, and it was also 
unanimously agreed that they wished to go 
back to Apple Island. But what to do about 
it, they did not know. 

Day by day the weather grew colder and 
colder, and the boys became more and more 
excited and distressed for fear they should 
lose their precious fruit. The eldest boy 
lay awake for several nights, and then a 
plan came into his head. He went to Cap- 
tain Covajos and proposed that he should 
send a flag of truce over to the corsairs, 
offering to exchange winter clothing. He 
would send over to them the heavy gar- 
ments they had left on their own vessel, 
and in return would take the boxes of 
clothes intended for the winter wear of his 
sailors. In this way, they would get their 
fruit back without the corsairs knowing 
anything about it. The Captain consid- 
ered this an excellent plan, and ordered 
the chief mate to take a boat and a flag of 
truce, and go over to the " Horn o' Plenty," and 
make the proposition. The eldest boy and two 
of the others insisted on going also, in order that 
there might be no mistake about the boxes. But 
when the flag-of-truce party reached the " Horn o' 
Plenty " they found not a corsair there ! Every 
man of them had gone. They had taken with 
them all the money-chests, but to the great delight 
of the boys, the boxes of winter clothes had not 
been disturbed ; and in them still nestled, safe and 
sound, the precious nuts of the Fragile Palm. 

When the matter had been thoroughly looked 
into, it became quite evident what the corsairs had 
done. There had been only one boat on board 
the "Horn o' Plenty," and that was the one on 
which the First Class in Long Division had arrived. 
The night before, the two vessels had passed with- 
in a mile or so of a large island, which the Cap- 



tain had approached in the hope it was the one 
they were looking for, and they passed it so slowly 
that the corsairs had time to ferry themselves 
over, a few at a time, in the little boat, taking with 
them the money, — and all without discovery, 

Captain Covajos was greatly depressed when he 
heard of the loss of all the money. 

" I shall have a sad tale to tell my merchants," 
he said, "and Christmas before last will not be 
celebrated so joyously as it was the first time. But 
we can not help what has happened, and we all must 
endeavor to bear our losses with patience. We 
shall continue our search for Apple Island, but 
I shall go on board my own ship, for I have greatly 
missed my carpeted quarter-deck and my other 
comforts. The chief mate, however, and a major- 
ity of the crew shall remain on board the corsair 
vessel, and continue to tow us. The ' Horn o' 
Plenty' sails better stern foremost, and we shall 
go faster that way." 

When the good old man received his present, he 
was much affected. " I will accept what you offer 
me," he said ; " for if I did not, I know your feel- 
ings would be wounded. Hut you must keep one 
of the nuts for yourselves. And, more than that, 
if we do not find Apple Island in the course of 
the coming year, I invite you all to spend Christ- 
mas before last over again, with me at my son's 

All that winter, the two ships sailed up and 
down, and here and there, but never could they 
find Apple Island. When Christmas-time came, old 
Baragat went around among the boys and the 
crew, and told them it would be well not to say a 
word on the subject to the Captain, for his feelings 
were very tender in regard to spending Christmas 
away from his families, and the thing had never 
happened before. So nobody made any allusion 
to the holidays, and they passed over as if they had 
been ordinary days. 


The boys were overjoyed at recovering their 
fruit, and most of them were in favor of cracking 
two or three of the great nuts, and eating their 
contents in honor of the occasion, but the eldest 
boy dissuaded them. 

'•The good Captain," he said, '"has been very 
kind in endeavoring to take us back to our school, 
and still intends to keep up the search for dear old 
Apple Island. The least we can do for him is to 
give him this fruit, which is all we have, and let 
him do what he pleases with it. This is the only 
way in which we can show our gratitude to him." 

The boys turned their backs on one another, and 
each of them gave his eyes a little rub, but they 
all agreed to give the fruit to the Captain. 

During the spring, and all through the summer, 
the two ships kept up the unavailing search, but 
when the autumn began, Captain Covajos said to 
old Baragat : " I am very sorry, but I feel that I can 
no longer look for Apple Island. I must go back 
and spend Christmas before last over again, with 
my dearest son ; and if these poor boys never 
return to their homes, I am sure they can not say 
it was any fault of mine." 

" No, sir," said Baragat, " I think you have done 
all that could be expected of you." 

So the ships sailed to the city on the west side 
of the sea ; and the Captain was received with 
great joy by his son, and his grandchildren. He 
went to the merchants, and told them how he had 




lost all their money. He hoped they would be 
able to bear their misfortune with fortitude, and 
begged, as he could do nothing else for them, that 
they would accept the eight great nuts from the 
Fragile Palm that the boys had given him. To his 
surprise the merchants became wild with delight 
when they received the nuts. The money they 
had lost was as nothing, they said, compared to the 
value of this incomparable and precious fruit, 
picked in its prime, and still in a perfect condition. 

1 1 had been many, many generations since this rare 
fruit, the value of which was like unto that of dia- 
monds and pearls, had been for sale in any market 
in the world; and kings and queens in many 
countries were ready to give for it almost any price 
that might be asked. 

When the good old Captain heard this he was 
greatly rejoiced, and, as the holidays were now near, 
he insisted that the boys should spend Christmas 
before last over again, at his son's house. He 
found that a good many people here knew where 
Apple Island was, and he made arrangements for 

the First Class in Long Division to return to that 
island in a vessel which was to sail about the first 
of the year. 

The boys still possessed the great nut which the 
Captain had insisted they should keep for them- 
selves, and he now told them that if they chose to 
sell it, they would each have a nice little fortune to 
take back with them. The eldest boy consulted 
the others, and then he said to the Captain : 

'" Our class has gone through a good many hard- 
ships, and has had a lot of trouble with that palm- 
tree and other things, and we think we ought to 
be rewarded. So, if it is all the same to you, I 
think we shall crack the nut on Christmas Day 
and we all shall eat it." 

" I never imagined," cried Captain Covajos, as 
he sat, on that Christmas Day, surrounded by his 
son's family and the First Class in Long Division, 
the eyes of the whole party sparkling with ecstasy 
as they tasted the peerless fruit of the Fragile 
Palm, " that Christmas before last could ever be so 
joyfully celebrated over again." 

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A R M A N C E . 



Bv Malcolm Douglas. 

Each day, bowing toward her politely, 
He wooed her with passion intense, 

Reproving his little pet poodle, 

That barked at her cat through the fence. 

I 've a question to ask," he once murmured, — 

"Will you be, little woman, my wife? 

With none but my poodle to love me, 
I 'm leading too lonely a life." 

And her round, dimpled cheeks were like roses ; 
"Although I adore you," sighed she, 
I never can marry you — never! 

Your dog with my cat wont agree." 
It is true," he said, stroking his poodle 
" But then I 've been thinking of that. 
You need n't distress yourself, darling. 

For you can get rid of your cat." 

" What ! Part with my dear little Snow-ball ! 

I never could do it ! " she said. 
" You 're cruel to ask it, when you, love, 

Can give up your poodle instead." 
" But he knows how to carry a basket," 

He said, with a quivering lip ; 
" And he '11 jump through a hoop, and — 1 love him! 

I could n't dispense with poor Gyp ! " 

" Then you see how it is, dear," she nodded. 

"I see," he replied; " it is Fate!" 
"" And, until they make up, dear, " she added, — 
"The best thing, I'm sure, is to wait." 
So, each day, bowing toward her politely, 

He wooes her, with passion intense, 
Reproving his little pet poodle, 

That barks at her cat through the fence ! 




By John R. Coryell.' 

A NUMBER of years ago there was a wealthy 
rajah in Calcutta, who, having a friendly feeling 
toward his English conquerors, had learned to 
speak and read their language. He was not a 
little proud of his accomplishments, and especially 
of his ability to read ; and so he very seldom lost 
an opportunity to display it. 

It happened that one day, while visiting the 
English viceroy, he saw, lying on a table, a copy 
of the Edinburgh Review, which had just been 
received. As there were several strangers in the 
room, the rajah was seized with a desire to make 
known his knowledge of English. 

"Your Excellency," he said, addressing the vice- 
roy, " will you be good enough to lend me this 
book to read ? " 

The viceroy of course complied, and all the 
guests expressed their surprise that the rajah had 
overcome the difficulties of the English language. 
So the prince, quite satisfied with the sensation he 
had created, took his leave. 

Having borrowed the magazine, the rajah, 
though he had no idea of the sort of literature it 
contained, felt that he ought to read it through 
carefully, so that, when questioned about it by the 
viceroy, he might answer intelligently. 

Accordingly he began with the first article, 
which was an account of "Hunting the Orang- 
outang ": and first learning from his dictionary what 
an orang-outang was, he read on to the bottom of 
the page with increasing interest. 

"The orang is as large as" — he read, and, 
turning the page, continued — "the unfortunate 
Queen of Scotland, who will perhaps stand higher 
in the estimation of future generations than her 
more successful rival, Elizabeth of England." 

The rajah was greatly perplexed. The sentence 
seemed to make sense, and yet he could not for 
the life of him see what the orang-outang had to do 
with the Queen of Scotland. And the worst of it 
was that the article immediately dropped the sub- 
ject of the orang and devoted itself to Queen Mary 

The puzzled potentate, having tried in vain to con- 
nect the two ideas, finally gave up the orang-outang 
and became so interested in the fortunes of the 
Scottish Queen that by the time he had reached 
the bottom of the following page he had almost 
forgotten that there was such a creature as an 

" The house of Guise, then in power in France, "- 

the rajah turned the page, — " devoted themselves 
almost exclusively to the breeding of milch cows." 

" Well," said the viceroy, when, on the follow- 
ing day, the rajah returned the magazine, "did 
you find anything of interest to you in the pages ? " 

" Interesting enough, but so very disconnected," 
replied the rajah. " Why, look ! " and he pointed 
out the extraordinary sentences he had read. 

The viceroy, who was a gentleman, did not laugh 
then ; he merely smiled sympathetically, and waited 
until the rajah was gone. 

" 1 should have told you." he said politely, 
"that the leaves were not cut. See!" He took 
up a paper-knife and cut the leaves. " You turned 
from ' Hunting the Orang-outang' to ' The History 
of Mary Stuart,' and from that to an article on 
' Jersey Cows.' " 

The rajah forgot his chagrin in his curiosity to 
learn how the magazine could be printed with its 
leaves all folded up. 

This the viceroy explained, and then, seeing 
that the rajah was curiously examining the paper- 
knife, he courteously presented it to him. The 
rajah then returned home, and the viceroy forgot 
the occurrence until it was recalled to his memory 
in a singular way. about a year later. 

He was surprised one day to see a gayly dressed 
company enter his court-yard, surrounding the 
friendly rajah, who was mounted upon the back of 
a young elephant. Salutations were exchanged, 
and the rajah called out : 

"Has your Excellency an uncut copy of the 
Edinburgh Review?" 

The viceroy had a copy, and sent for it. 

"Will your Excellency please toss it to my ele- 

The viceroy threw it toward the animal, which 
very deftly caught it with its trunk. 

What was the viceroy's astonishment then to see 
the elephant slip the uncut edges of the magazine 
over one of its tusks and neatly and carefully cut 
them open ! 

Looking more closely, he saw that each of the 
tusks had been carved into a paper-knife, with 
smooth blade and elaborate handle. 

The elephant, when it had completed its task of 
cutting the leaves, passed the magazine back to 
the admiring viceroy. 

"Your Excellency," said the rajah, as he dis- 
mounted from the elephant, " a year ago you gave 
me a paper-knife. It has, as you see, come to 



life. I hope you will do me the honor to receive India. But, after all, cutting the leaves of a 

it back again." magazine, though a very pretty accomplishment, 

In Calcutta, where this story is told, admiration is no more extraordinary than walking a tight- 

is always expressed at the princely generosity of rope or riding a velocipede, and both of those 



the rajah. In England and America, it is much 
more likely that the elephant's sagacity will be 
admired. I cannot vouch for the truth of the nar- 
rative, though a similar incident has lately been told 
in the newspapers, in which it was stated that an 
elephant with a paper-cutter tusk had been pre- 
sented to Lord Dufferin, the present viceroy of 

feats have been performed by young elephants in 
this country. 

It is somewhat difficult to know where to place 
the limit of the elephant's ability to learn, for the 
most expert trainer of the great creatures in this 
country has said that he will some day teach an 
elephant to write his name. 




By Edith M. Thomas. 

Oh, I laugh to hear what grown folk 
Tell the young folk of Kriss Kringle, 

In the Northland, where unknown folk 
Love to feci the frost-wind tingle. 

Yes, I laugh to hear the grown folk 
Tell you young folk how Kriss Kringle 

Travels 'round the world like lone folk, 
None to talk with — always single! 

Would a grim and grave old fellow 
(Not a chick nor child to care for) 

Keep a heart so warm and mellow 
That all children he 'd prepare for ? 

Do you think, my little maiden, 
He could ever guess your wishes — 

That you 'd find your stocking laden 
With a doll and set of dishes ? 

No; the truth is, some one whispers 
In the ear he hears the best with, 

What to suit the youngest lispers, 
Boys and girls, and all the rest with. 

Some one (ah, you guess in vain, dear!) 
Nestled close by old Kriss Kringle, 

Laughs to see the prancing reindeer, 
Laughs to hear the sledge bells jingle. 

Dear old lady, small and rosy ! 

In the nipping, Christmas weather, 
Nestled close, so warm and cozy, 

These two chat, for hours together. 
So, if I were in your places, 

Rob and Hal, and Kate, and Mary, 
I would be in the good graces 

Of this lovely, shy old fairy. 

Still I laugh to hear the grown folk 
Tell you young folk how Kriss Kringle 

Travels 'round the world, like lone folk,— 
None to talk with — always single! 


By C. E. C. 

That we should have our winter party had been 
fully decided, but what kind of a party it should be 
was a question that still agitated us. 

But first let me tell you who "we" were, and 
then I will tell you what we did. "We" were a 
number of boys and girls who for several summers 
had camped out together on the shore of one of 
the great Lakes, and every winter we had held a 
reunion, between Christmas and New Year's. 

Dora wished to have us decide upon a german, 
but to that the objection was quickly raised that 
several of us did not dance. We thought we were 
too grown-up for a bubble party, and an ordinary 
fancy party seemed rather tame. Despair was 
settling down upon us, when Harry said : 

"Why not have all the Holidays come to- 
gether ? Christmas and New Year's are already 
here, why not invite St. Valentine's Day, Easter, 
Fourth of July, and the rest of the gala days, to 
meet them ? " 

We were delighted with the idea, and so after 
spoiling a great deal of paper the invitations were 
arranged on the following plan : 

"You are invited to participate in a Camp Reunion, at the Mel. 
worth Homestead, on Tuesday evening, Dec. 30th. You will meet 
the principal Holidays of the year, and they will be pleased to see 
you in your interpretation of (St. Valentine's Day)." 

With one or two exceptions a boy and a girl 
were asked to represent each day, and there were 
two prizes offered for the best costumes. 

■88 5 1 



And now, such a plotting and planning and gen- 
eral getting ready as ensued ! Every one of us was 
reading cyclopaedias and studying dictionaries to 
find out what Twelfth Night really meant, and 
who St. Valentine actually was, and how Jack 
should represent May Day. It was easy enough 
for a girl, but what could a boy do ? 

Harry, as the host, was to be Christmas Day 
and preside over a Christmas-tree. 

Carl was to be St. Valentine's Day, and his time 
was taken up in writing Valentines for all of us ; 
but he finished them all — twenty-five of them, each 
sealed with red wax, with a heart stamped on it. 

The party was to be on Tuesday, and at last 
everything was ready. 

What a lovely sight ! Is it fairy-land, or is it the 
very home of the Holidays themselves? The "big 
parlor " scarcely recognizes itself. Yards of ever- 
green rope, festooned from the ceiling in every 
direction, make it a real bower. Over one fire- 
place we read " Merry Christmas ! " and over the 
other, " Happy New Year ! " The floor is waxed 
and shining, and in the corners are inviting seats 
covered with rugs and bear-skins. 

And then this fantastic company in bewitch- 
ing and bewildering array ! Can these really 
be the boys and girls we have seen at camp in 
flannel suits and Tarn o' Shanters ? How can I 
hope to tell you all about it? 

There goes the Fourth of July. Miss Fourth is 
draped in flags and trimmed with pin-wheels ; she 
has a gilt helmet on her head, and she is carrying 
a gorgeous transparency of red, white, and blue 
silk, with " 1884 " on one side, " '76 " on the next, 
and a " Liberty Bell " on the third. St. Valentine 
hands her a letter ; as it is only a valentine, let us 
look over her shoulder and read it with her : 

" To be bound to kings and princes doth often curse a nation. 
Hurrah for this, our country! — for it chose a better part. 
Of its independent character, you 're a perfect presentation ; 
As such you have my fealty, my homage, and my heart." 

What a jingling of bells the next two make ! 
There is no mistaking them. Dick as a Jester, 
and Effie as Folly, are evidently April Fool's Day. 
More bells — and here comes Mistress Christmas 
Day, white and sparkling from the crown of her 
powdered head to the sole of her silver boot ; all 
diamond dust, swan's-down, and tiny silver sleigh- 
bells, she looks the very essence of Christmas. And 
beside her is Carl's little sister, the baby of the camp, 
dressed to represent the '• Night before Christmas," 
with a holly wreath on her head, another around 
her skirt, and on her back are two stockings 

In hopes that St. Nicholas so 

'ith care 
be there 

And here he comes, with toys enough in his 
pack to fill forty stockings. He, too, is in white, 
all trimmed with rabbit fur, and but for his 
merry voice and hearty greetings, we should never 
dream that it was Harry Melworth, so disguised 
is he by his costume and long white beard. Here 
are the Thanksgiving Days — Rob, as a stately 
Puritan, and Lena, as a Thanksgiving dinner. 
The dress she has on is over a hundred years old. 
She has put a high ruff of turkey feathers in the 
square neck, and more feathers in the short, puffed 
sleeves. She has a necklace of cranberries, and 
cranberries and celery-tops in her powdered hair. 
And what has she in her hands ? Surely not a 
pumpkin pie ! No, only a palm-leaf fan painted 
to look like one ; a roll of painted cotton-batting 
around the edge of the fan for crust, and a knife 
smeared with yellow ochre, laid on the handle of 
the fan, and carefully fastened there, complete the 
make-believe pie. 

Standing near the fire-place, and talking to- 
gether, Easter and Ash Wednesday form a charm- 
ing tableau. 

Ash Wednesday is dressed as a black friar ; 
while Easter wears a Confirmation dress, with 
lilies, a white prayer-book, and a pearl rosary, — 
and perched on her shoulder is a snow-white dove. 
She has a basket of eggs, each one bearing an apt 
quotation, one for every holiday. 

Here are the St. Patrick's Days, and they look 
as though they were fresh from the Emerald Isle. 
Mrs. St. Patrick's Day is dressed in green, with 
black-flannel serpents writhing on her skirt. She 
is reading her valentine, and again we shall use 
our privilege, and peep over her shoulder : 

" Come list to me, darlint, a tale 1 would tell 
Of how precious ye are to me, how I love ye so well ; 
By all saints above us, by St. Patrick, too, 
I love ye, me swateheart, and love only you. 
I know your name, colleen, and would ye know moine, 
Then list while I tell ye it 's, jist Valentoine." 

There is Twelfth Night walking with Election 
Day. The latter is a typical Uncle Sam, and 
he is constantly electioneering for his friends or 
himself, as he walks about the room. Alec and 
Alice come next, as Hallowe'en — Alec, with a 
variety of vegetables that have a suggestively mis- 
chievous look, and Alice, as a Scotch lassie. We 
borrow her valentine and read : 

" With trick and trap of various kind. 
On Hallowe'en we seek to find, 
With aid from mirrors and from books, 
Each how his own true lover looks. 
I need no trick nor trap to see 
That my fair sweetheart luoks like thee." 

Mardi Gras, with a tambourine full of flowers, 
passes by and pelts us with them as she goes. 




George Washington, with his hatchet, walks be- 
side her, a model of dignity and truth. 

In the corner, seated in a rocking-chair, is the 
other Washington's Birthday, Lillie, who belies 
her name this time, for she has blackened her face 
and is dressed as an old nurse, with bright turban, 
folded kerchief, and voluminous apron, in the 
corner of which is embroidered, in big red let- 
ters, " VIRGINIA." She holds something that a 
placard announces as the " Grandfather of his 
Country" — because, as everybody knew, she said, 
"the child is father to the man." 

I have not space to describe all the costumes, 
nor give all the valentines, but must hasten to 
tell of the Christmas-tree, and the voting for the 
prize costumes. The ballot was presided over by 

Election Day, who took one prize himself, and 
the other was voted to "Virginia" and the infant 

After supper the mysterious curtains in front of 
the baj'-windbw were drawn, and disclosed the 
Christmas-tree, from which Santa Claus took 
appropriate gifts for every day. A jointed snake 
for St. Patrick's Day, — a silver egg for Easter; a 
match-safe in the shape of a tiny pumpkin for 
Thanksgiving Day, — something for every one. 

Then, led by May Day, we danced around the 
May-pole, winding it with its bright ribbons. But 
all good times must have an end, and some one 
had whispered the hour — and a very late hour it 
was. So we hurried on our wraps, and as we said 
good-night, we decided that of all our camp par- 
ties, the Holiday Party had been the very best. 




(Recollections 0/ a Page in the United States Senate.) 

By Edmund Alton. 

Chapter XXVIII. 


Speaking about receptions to distinguished peo- 
ple, I should not omit one that took place some 
years ago. It was during the days of the war. 
General Grant was in command of the Army of the 
Potomac, and one day, having occasion to come 
to Washington on important business, he appeared 
at the Capitol. He had come up on a tug-boat 
it was said, and had evidently traveled in great haste. 

He was very plainly dressed. He had on a slouch 
hat, spurs jingled upon his heels, and his boots and 
clothes were bespattered with mud. With his 
characteristic modesty, he took a seat in one of the 
cloak-rooms of the House, but some of the members 
caught sight of him, and despite his remonstrance, 
he was brought out upon the floor; the Speaker 
left his place, and the representatives almost carried 
him to the desk and deposited him in the chair, 
while the air rang with a whirlwind of huzzas ! 

Nor was that the only reception accorded him. At 
the first session of the last Congress he made a trip 
to Washington as a private citizen ; and, when it 
was known that he was in the hall, the House, 
upon the motion of Mr. Randall, took a recess for 
fifteen minutes in order to give the representatives 
an opportunity to shake the hand of the old hero. 
And almost the last act done by the senators and 
representatives of that Congress, on the 4th of 
March, 1885, was to pass a bill placing him, with 
the rank and pay of a general, upon the retired list 
of the army. 

In this connection. I may describe one other 
reception memorable to me, — an occasion in 
which the President and I were the central figures. 

It was during the year 1876. I had almost com- 
pleted my "boyhood days," and had decided to 
resign my place. 

When my senatorial friends heard of this, they 
began to give me advice. Among other things it 
was suggested that I should study law and fit my- 
self to succeed one of the senators from New York. 
But I was then of a roving disposition, and I pre- 
ferred to be "a sailor bold, and sail the deep blue 
sea." So I decided to go to the Naval Academy. 
Having so determined, the next step was to carry 
out my resolve. 

I accordingly consulted several of the influential 
senators who had manifested an interest in my 

* Copyright, 1SS4, by Edmund 

welfare, and they promptly responded to my de- 
sire. It was the last year of President Grant's 
administration, and there was a great pressure upon 
him for all sorts of offices. But the senators told 
me to go myself, nevertheless. So one balmy day I 
presented myself at the White House, and, under the 
escort of a senator, I was shown into the audience- 
room. Although the President had been warned 
of my coming by some of the senators, he went 
through the formality of asking me what I wanted. 
I told him that I was hoping to be appointed as a 
cadet-midshipman-at-large to the Naval Academy. 

"Well," he quietly remarked, "make out 
your application in black and white for just what 
you want, so that I can have it before me, and 
bring it here to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock. " 

I returned to the Senate, reported the result of 
the interview, and drew up my application. Then 
a senator suggested that a recommendation should 
accompany it ; and, drafting a testimonial, he sent 
it to one of the clerks to be enrolled on parchment. 
Then the senators began to sign it — Democrats 
and Republicans alike, all seemed to be eager to 
record their names. As I would go to one desk to 
ask a senator to sign, his neighbor would call out, 
" Pass it along ! " And so it passed. I allowed a 
few members of the House and other distinguished 
visitors to sign it just to let them see their names 
in good company. When finished, it was a formi- 
dable document. 

The next day, I entered the Cabinet-room in 
obedience to orders. To my astonishment, it was 
crowded with senators and other high officials. 
As I entered, the senators smiled, and said : 
" Here he is at last ! " which sadly unnerved me 
and made me feel faint. 

The President was sitting at the farther end of 
his Cabinet-table with his face toward the door, 
the chair on his right was occupied by a senator, 
and the one next to that by a Cabinet officer. 
At the request of the President, I took a vacant 
chair close by and produced my papers. When 
I unfurled my recommendation, the President 
laughed. "What's that," he inquired. — "an- 
other enrolled bill to be approved ? " I told him 
what it was. " I did n't ask you to get that" he 
said; "let me see your application." I gave it 
to him and he scanned it closely. Then looking 
at me intently, he began some mild quizzing and 
bantering. The others, taking the cue from him, 
did likewise, some asking me why I did n't choose 

Alton. Ali rights reserved. 

H 2 



a Foreign Mission. This caused me to feel still 
more uneasy, and the President observed it. 
"Well," he remarked, " your application is made 
out in proper form " ; and, folding it up, he wrote 

" do you — do you ," and as I began to stam- 
mer, the assemblage again smiled. 

" Do I what? " inquired the President. 

"Well," I replied, nervously, "do you think 


upon its back exactly twenty-four words, not 
including the date and the signature. " U. S. 

Of course, I did not know what he had written, 
and I thought his writing on the paper was a bad 
omen. It looked as if the paper was to be pigeon- 
holed. I had expected him to read the applica- 
tion, and then say: "You shall be appointed " ; 
and I was therefore confused by his action. I 
resolved to know my fate at once. 

" Well, Mr. President," I exclaimed, " I should 

like to ask you "; and then I broke down 

under my excitement. 

"What is it?" he asked. 

"I should like to ask vou,"I timidly resumed. 

there 's any — any — any c/iance 

for me ? " And the way I brought 

out that word was appalling ! The 

emphasis must have weighed as much 

as the whole of Webster's Dictionary. 

Then they all began to laugh ; but the 
President checked them. 

" Yes," said he, slowly and reflectively, 
yet I thought I saw his eyes twinkle as he 
said it, " you stand a chance. There are 
only about ten thousand applicants ahead of you." 

I was stupefied ! I looked the President full in 
the face to see if he were not in fun. But he was 
as calm as the midday sky. I grasped my hat, 
exclaimed, " Good-morning! " and rose from the 
chair. The room seemed to swim around me. 
The senator who sat in the adjoining chair must 
have noticed my pallor, for he caught me by the arm 
and whispered : " It 's all right ! You '11 get it ! " 
Without looking at any of the others, 1 rushed 
straight for the door. As I shut it behind me, I 
heard a sound of general laughter. 

Shortly afterward, the Senate adjourned sine die, 
and with the close of that session my career in the 
legislative councils of my country came to an end. 

( To be continued.) 




(A Series of Brief Papers concerning tile Great Musicians.) 

By Agatha Tunis. 

IX. — Chopin. 

Chopin, alone of all the musicians, has been 
immortalized through his pianoforte music. If all 
the works that have ever been written for the piano 
were to be swept away, his compositions would of 
themselves inspire one through all the drudgery 
that is necessary to master the instrument. 

Nicholas Chopin, the father of the composer, 
was born and educated in France, but when quite 
a young man he became deeply interested in the 
history of Poland, and determined to visit the coun- 
try. Arriving there, he mastered the language, 
and sympathized so deeply in the political strug- 
gles of the unhappy people, that he twice fought 
in the Polish ranks, — once during the Revolution 
headed by Kosciusko, and once when Poland was 
besieged by Prussia. He made three different at- 
tempts to return to France, but was prevented 
each time by illness, and finally decided to spend 
the rest of his life in Poland. While acting as 
tutor to the son of a Polish countess, he met at her 
house a delicate, lovable woman named Friiulein 
Justina Krzyzanowska, whom he married ; and 
soon after accepted a position as professor of French 
at one of the Warsaw academies. Nicholas Cho- 
pin was a refined, lovable man of large sympa- 
thies, and his home was always the resort of the 
finest people in that city. There it was Chopin's 
good fortune to grow up in a refined and cultivated 
atmosphere, under the care of a tender, judicious 
father and a loving, sensitive mother. 

Frederic Chopin was born on March 1. 1809, at 
a little village near Warsaw. The child's genius 
was apparent in his earliest years ; when scarcely 
more than a baby, he was so sensitive that he wept 
on hearing music ; and he began to compose be- 
fore he was old enough to write out the notes. He 
was placed under the tuition of Albert Zwyny, 
who was delighted with his little pupil's progress, 
and in his ninth year he gave his first concert. 
His playing on this occasion created a great sen- 
sation ; the most aristocratic people loved to pet 
and humor him, and had it not been for his own 
extremely modest disposition and the care taken 
by his sensible parents, he would have been com- 
pletely spoiled. He was now handed over to Eisner 
to be instructed in counterpoint. This accomplished 
musician and wise man soon saw the genius of his 
little pupil, and what was worth much more to the 

child, he appreciated how original he was in his 
bent, and instead of obliging him to imitate him, 
and become a second Eisner, he allowed him to 
give free play to his fancy, and so helped to make 
of him a Chopin. Frederic was full of high spirits, 
and often amused himself by playing little practical 
jokes, sometimes being joined by his sister Emily. 
This sister gave as rare promise of being great in 
literature as Frederic in music, but, unfortunately, 
she died when only a young girl. 

Chopin had a talent for seizing the ludicrous and 
placing it on paper; and his power of caricaturing 
on the piano was much like Schumann's. It is said 
that once, when his father's pupils were becoming 
very boisterous, Chopin entered the room and 
seated himself at the piano. He imitated a band 
of robbers breaking into a house, their escape, and 
retreat to the woods ; as the music grew fainter the 
pupils became drowsier and drowsier until they 
were all fast asleep. 

Eisner, his instructor, now urged that his pupil 
should be sent to Berlin, where he might hear fine 
pianoforte performers ; and as Professor Jarochi, a 
friend of his father's, was about to attend a philo- 
sophical congress there, the parents intrusted 
Frederic to his care. There he heard Mendels- 
sohn and also listened to some of Handel's music, 
which made a profound impression upon him. 

He wrote home mirthful letters of his experiences 
there. Though music was all in all to him, he had 
eyes for everything there was to see, and was so 
amused at the appearance of some of the German 
philosophers, that he could not resist caricaturing 
them on paper. With his usual modesty, he had 
come to learn, and he was astounded when, at 
Vienna, they actually wished him to play ; after 
great urging, he reluctantly gave two concerts, 
at both of which he produced a remarkable sen- 
sation. On his journey home, he stopped at Vienna, 
Prague, Dresden, and other cities, and was ready, 
on arriving at Warsaw, to settle down to hard, 
steady work, while his compositions and playing 
were already gaining him great fame. 

In 1830 Chopin again went to music-loving 
Vienna, where he met Schumann, who was one 
of the first to hail him as a master; and not only 
did Schumann in his journal do all in his power to 
bring Chopin to the attention of the public, but 
Clara Wieck, afterward Madame Schumann, was 
one of the first to play his compositions. 




After a long stay in Vienna, he decided to visit 
Paris, and thence proceed to London ; and although 
he was destined to make Paris his home, he often 
said he was there on his way co London. When 
he first settled in Paris, public taste was already 
formed ; it had its favorite players, and was slow- 
to applaud any new candidate, especially one so 
original as Chopin. At first Chopin was a com- 
plete failure ; his Polish friends attended his con- 
certs, but the Parisians held aloof. Wounded 
and discouraged, Chopin thought of coining to 
America ; but his parents were so opposed to the 
plan that he lingered in Paris, undecided as to what 
was best ; at this time, when he felt almost hope- 
less, success came to him. 

He disliked greatly to be obliged to play at 
concerts, as many fine effects in his playing were 
lost in a large hall ; but, in the drawing-room, 
surrounded by sympathetic listeners, his very soul 
seemed to creep through his fingers and free itself 
in his music. Such an opportunity came to him 
at Baron Rothschild's, at an evening entertain- 
ment, and as he played, his listeners were enchant- 
ed, and his future was assured. The aristocracy 
showered attentions upon him, and it became fash- 
ionable to possess him as a friend, or as a teacher, — 
for he earned his living by taking pupils. He 
shrank from playing at concerts, and, unlike most 
of the masters, loved to teach. He would only 
receive pupils who had ability and were thoroughly 
in earnest ; but, once their teacher, he had infinite 
patience with all their difficulties. He insisted on 
every finger being equally trained, and paid more 
attention to cultivating a fine, delicate touch than 
to force or velocity. 

In 1332 Chopin attended the Lower Rhine Fes- 
tival under the leadership of Mendelssohn, who 
was delighted with his playing, and greeted him 
as one of the greatest of all pianists. 

Chopin's life in Paris was now a pleasant and 
peaceful one. Though universally popular and 
sought after by all, his chosen friends were Poles; 
he preferred them as pupils above all others ; he 
constantly assisted them with money, and often 
shared his lodging with them. He held soirees 
every evening at which, among others, one could 
meet Liszt, the composer and player, Heine, the 
poet, and Ary Scheffer. the painter. Liszt admired 
Chopin, and the two were long intimate friends; 
sometimes the spirit of mischief would seize 
Chopin, and seating himself at the piano, he would 

imitate every detail of Liszt's playing, very much to 
the brilliant artist's amusement. 

Chopin's health had always been delicate, and 
finally an attack of bronchitis forced him to leave 
Paris for the Island of Majorca ; here he grew so 
much better that in 1839 he returned home. He 
failed to take proper care of himself, and again 
grew worse. In spite of this, he visited London, 
and although he rarely played in public, he secured 
unbounded appreciation wherever he was heard. 
After his return to Paris, his health grew more 
and more feeble, until at last his friends felt he had 
not long to live. A few days before he died, a Polish 
friend sang for him, making all in the room weep. 
" How beautiful ! " he said, and fell asleep. He 
died October 17, 1849. They covered him with 
flowers, especially the violet, which he best loved, 
and Mozart's Requiem was sung at his funeral. 

Chopin had beautiful brown eyes and a rare 
musical voice. His fine education, his music, and 
his fascinating manner made him a general favor- 
ite, yet he always remained as modest as a child, 
rarely playing at concerts, and never courting 
applause of any kind. Reared in an atmosphere 
of affection and refinement, he loved flowers and 
music, and seemed born to the beautiful, passing 
through none of the bitter struggles that Mozart 
or Beethoven endured. 

And yet in order that he should feel for others, 
it was necessary that he should suffer. Chopin 
was a Pole, in birth, education, and sympathy ; he 
never forgot that he was one ; the sorrows of his 
unhappy country were ever before him, and his 
music was born of them. He was the poet of the 
piano, and as all poets sing from the heart, so 
he looked into his heart and played. From his 
childhood Chopin must have heard the Polish 
peasants singing their national songs, and dance 
music, and around these he wove his wonderful 
polonaises, mazurkas, ballads, and all that he wrote. 
Who can tell what he might have created had he 
written for an orchestra. He loved the piano. 
Schumann says of Chopin that he imprisoned the 
spirit of Beethoven in the piano, and that his music 
would inspire a poet to write. What must it have 
been to hear him play his own music, with his 
marvelous execution, and his touch, tender and 
delicate. Liszt has said that no one can play 
Chopin after Chopin, for no one can feel as he felt ; 
but as long as the pianoforte lasts, we shall long to 
hear his music ; he has immortalized the piano. 





i;Jep5 ovcj* wj)l1c Jj^j jliDlog 

Vol. XIII.— 10. 





By C. J. Russell. 

Nearly two hundred different kinds of dogs ! 
Think of it ! And yet this is not difficult to believe ; 
for, we have water dogs, and watch dogs, and 
sheep dogs, and fighting dogs, and pet dogs, and 
sledge dogs, and carriage dogs ; big dogs and little 
dogs, long-legged and short-legged dogs ; dogs for 
killing rats, and dogs for killing wild boars; dogs 
for use, and dogs for ornament. 

Sometimes the fashion has been 
for big dogs ; and then what giants 
were suddenly grown ! Why, there 
have been dogs as large as Shet- 
land ponies ! Then slender 
dogs were in demand, and 
behold ! dogs like shad- 
ows, with legs like pipe- 
stems, came into existence. 
As for the ugly dog fashion, 
— well, perhaps you will 
not think so, particu- 
larly if you have an 
ugly dog, but 
the pug dog 
answers this 

Sir Archibald Madame of England, and in honor 
of his extreme tininess, is now carefully preserved 
under a glass case. 

Tiny was less than four inches long, and could 
comfortably curl up and take a nap in a common 
glass tumbler. An ordinary finger-ring was large 
enough for his collar ; and when he sat up, a 
baby's hand would almost have made a broad and 
safe resting-place for him. 

Of course Tiny was of no account against a rat. 
Indeed, a hearty, self-respecting mouse would have 
stood its ground against the little fel- 
low. But if Tiny had not strength, 
he did have courage, and 
would bark as lustily as his 
little lungs would let him at 
the biggest rat that ever 
lived — when the rat was 

To tell the whole truth, 
Tiny was remarkable and 
he was famous, but he was 
not very happy. He could 
have had almost anything 
he wished to eat, but 
GJ%c-ti1^ he had n0 appetite- 

Then there 
is the little dog — 
the toy dog, as it is 
called. The smallness 
to which a dog can be re- 
duced is remarkable ; and if 
the size of the very smallest dog had not 
been officially recorded, no one could be blamed 
for doubting the facts concerning the little 

" Tiny," a black-and-tan terrier, has the honor 
of having been the smallest full-grown dog that 
ever lived. He belonged to Lieutenant-Gencral 

He shivered 

most of the 

time, even though 

he was usually hidden in warm 

wraps. Of course he caught cold easily, and then, 

oh, dear ! how pitifully he did sneeze ! 

i88 5 .] 



A MOTHEK-MOUSE, when her children had nearly 
reached the age at which it became time for them 
to seek their own fortunes in the world, cautioned 

against the traps and dangers 
that would lie in their paths. 
"My children, "said she, "the 
cheese looks very tempting, 
and is even sometimes toasted, but beware of it ; 
for it will bring misfortune to vou." 

One time the whole family of younger mice came 
upon a trap. "This, 1 suppose," said the eldest 
and wisest, "is the trap against which our mother 
so carefully warned us. And yet," con- 
tinued he, "the cheese looks very tempt- 
ing. I doubt extremely if there be any 
real danger in it. And even if there be, 
I think that, by a proper amount of self- 
SjL control and wariness, one might avoid all 
SSK ill consequences. Because some have been 
caught, it does not necessarily follow that 
a like fate must overtake all. At least I 
shall inspect the trap to satisfy myself 
whether there is really as much danger 
in it as our mother said. You know, she 
is apt to be over-cautious very often." And 
with this remark, in spite of the urgent 
warnings of his brothers, the over-wise 
mouse deliberately entered the trap. 

" I cannot see," said he, when he was 
within, " that there is any real danger, and 
it is very pleasant here. One need not eat 
of the cheese, you know." 

But even as he spoke the delicious smell 
of the cheese overcame his caution ; he 
concluded there could be no danger in taking the 
smallest nibble. No sooner, however, had he 
touched the tempting morsel, than the trap fell 
and he was a prisoner. 

"Alas!" said he to his weeping mother, who 
had hastened to the trap upon learning the fate of 
her son, " I now discover, when it is too late to 
repent, that the experience of age is safer than the 
presumptuous wisdom of youth." 





( A Christmas Story. ) 

fHAT is Christmas 
without Santa Claus ? 
Itlookedvcry much 
as if Jack and 
Erne Hillscombe 
were soon to find 
1 out what such a 
Christmas would 
be ; for it was al- 
ready Christmas-eve, and 
the house where the two 
children lived was filled with the usual good 
cheer, and all the bustle of preparing for the 
great event. 

Papa Hillscombe sat in the big 
arm-chair putting on his slippers, 
and doing his best to imagine him- 
self before the great log-fire he had 
known so well as a boy ; for there 
were no grates in the Hillscombe 
house. Jack and Effie lived in a 
city where, at the time of my story, 
very few families had open fire-places 
in their houses ; and little Effie had 
asked her Papa, as she kissed him 
good-night: "Why, Papa, how is 
Santa Claus goin' to det in when 
there is no fireplace?" This ques- 
tion really puzzled Papa Hillscombe, 
but he told the children that Santa 
Claus would find his way in, . id that 
it would be all right in the m. riling. 
But after the children had gone to 
bed, a queer look came over their 
papa's good-natured face, and it was 
plainly to be seen that he was think- 
ing of little Effie's question. 

It happened, too, that the children 
were not satisfied with the answer he 
had given them ; and while Papa was 
locking up the house for the night, 
and attending to the furnace, they 
were still exchanging opinions on this 
weighty subject from their little cots. 
Suddenly Jack sat bolt upright. 
He had an idea ! And in another mo- 
ment he had toppled out of bed and 
made his way on tip-toe to Effie's cot. 
A whispered consultation followed, 
and in a few minutes later both little 
cots were deserted, and two tiny white figures were 
creeping noiselessly down the staircase. 

All the doors were locked, and all the windows 
closed, and Papa was just shutting the iron door 
of the great furnace in the cellar, when he was 
startled by voices which seemed to come from 
the furnace itself. For a moment he amused 
himself with the fancy that Santa Claus was really 
making his way in by the furnace; then he thought 
he might have left a door unlocked. 

The thoughts of Santa Claus or other less wel- 
come visitors were, however, soon forgotten when 
he heard the sound of children's voices, and found 
that it was Jack and Effie who were talking. 

Papa opened the furnace door again, and listened. 


They were evidently talking near the register, 
for what they said was plainly heard through the 

,S8 5 .] 




furnace pipe by Papa Hillscombe. Jack 
saying : 

" O Effie ! how can Santa Claus ever bwing 
big sled through the wegister? " 

" Or my doll's house ? " said Effie. 

There was a pause, then Jack exclaimed triumpl 
antly, "I know! let's take the top off." 

"But," said Effie, "we 're not bid enough." 

"Oh! you 're only a dirl ; /can do it." 

Then followed quite a 
struggle between Jack 
and the "wegister," but 
it was only after the 
"dirl" had come to his 
aid that Jack was able to 
lift the iron plate ; and 
then Papa heard her say, 
in a solemn tone: "Do 
you fink, Jack, he could 
det a doll's house through 
dat ? " 

" Oh, Santa Claus can 
do anything ! " was Jack's 
comforting reply. 

The two little people 
were on their knees, 
peering intently down 
the dark opening, when 
suddenly they were star- 
tled by a voice, which 
seemed to come up 
through the hole in the 
floor. The voice said : 

"It 's time little chil- 
dren were in bed ! Santa 
Claus can't bring his presents up till everybody is 
fast asleep ! " 

The children could not tell the voice, as it came 
up through the pipe, and with a cry of " He 's 
tumming ! Santa Claus is tumming ! " two little 

figures in white scampered upstairs and back to 
their cots. 

The next morning (as bright a Christmas-day 
as ever dawned) found two little figures, not in 
white this time, standing over a pile of pretty 
presents heaped up around the register; among 
which might be seen a brightly painted sleigh with 
" Effie and Jack," in big gold letters, on the side, 
and a wonderful three-story doll's house ; and 

Jack was exclaiming in triumph : "Didn't 1 tell 
you Santa Claus could do anything ! " 

So Santa Claus came into the Hillscombe parlor. af- 
ter all, and it was Effie and Jack who settled for them- 
selves the difficult question of how he was to get in. 

five little boys. 

By E. V. S. 

Five little boys went out to sea. 

A-sailing in a dory : 
At set of sun they all came home, 

Thus ends my thrilling story. 





v W 

(A* 4... ?*3^*dh?< / ' 1 


"'Christmas comes but once a year,' eh?" 
said the Deacon, the other morning, and he added, 
"Well, it seems to me the saying would apply as 
well to any other of the great holidays. Who ever 
heard of two Fourths of July in one year ? Why, 
all the bright youngsters who have studied frac- 
tions would straightway begin to claim that two- 
fourths were equal to one-half, and that therefore 
one-half of the whole month should be given over 
to fire-crackers and rockets and torpedoes and gen- 
eral tintinabulation ? It would never do, I 'm sure, 
to have more than one Fourth of July in the year — 
no, indeed ! " * 

Now, you may decide this question for yourselves; 
but the Deacon's remarks remind me that I am 
commissioned by the Little School-ma'am to say 
to you all, that Mr. W. D Howells — a famous teller 
of good stories, I hear — is to give you, in the 
very next number of St. Nicholas, the full par- 
ticulars concerning Christmas every day in the year. 
The Little School-ma'am wishes me to bid you all 
to pay special heed to this announcement, and to 
look out for some very interesting points on this 
momentous subject. 


I HAVE heard of some pretty steep pastures 
myself, but none that begin to equal those that 
the Little School-ma'am was talking about the 
other day. There is somewhere, it seems, a 
very cold country called Norway ; and according 
to her account, it must be a peculiar land in many 
ways. Among other peculiarities the people there 
seem unable to get along without a " j " or two in 
every name, and there are in that country, the 
Little School-ma'am says, many inlets from the sea, 
which are there called by the queer title of "fjords. " 

This strange country, it appears, is composed 

almost entirely of "fjords " and mountains, which is 
the reason, I suppose, why the pastures are so 
steep. As I said before, too, it is a very cold 
country, and so valuable is the pasturage on the 
mountains rising steeply from the "fjords," that 
every small patch of grass, no matter how high up on 
the mountain, is occupied. The peasants will build 
little farm buildings, and live there two or three 
thousand feet above the water, all the year through, 
despite the snows and cold of the long northern 
winter, just for the sake of having a little patch of 
green for a part of the year. And these meadows 
are so slanting that the cattle have to be tethered 
as they feed, and the little children are fastened 
by ropes to stakes as they play, lest they slip and 
fall down the hillside to their certain destruction. 


The Little School-ma'am wishes me to announce 
from my pulpit, so to speak, the following piece 
of good advice written by Mr. Eggleston in a book 
called "The Big Brother": 

" It will not harm you, boys and girls, to learn a little accurate 
geography, by looking up these places before going on with the 
story; and if I were your school-master, instead of your story-teller, I 
should stop here to advise you always to look on the map for every 
town, river, lake, mountain, or other geographical thing mentioned 
in any book or paper you read. I shrjuld advise you, too. if 1 were 
your school-master, to add up all the figures given in books and 
newspapers, to see if the writers have made any mistakes; and it 
is a good plan, too, to go at once to the dictionary when you meet a 
word you do not quite comprehend, or to the encyclopaedia or his- 
tory, or whatever else is handy, whenever you read about anything 
and would like to know more about it." 


Dear Jack : I was very much interested in the 
letter from your friend, printed last month, about 
the vegetable needle and thread. That needle has 
an advantage over our steel needles, for I sup- 
pose it can be used without a thimble. I read 
somewhere, not long ago, an elaborate eulogy on 
"the needle," — the "wonder-working needle," 
as it was called; and I could n't help thinking 
that this same worker of wonders would be a very 
obstinate, unmanageable thing, were it not for its 
long-time companion, the thimble. 

And speaking of thimbles, I wonder if the St. 
Nicholas boys and girls have any idea how these 
useful little articles are made. At all events, 
I 've a mind to tell them a thing or two about 
it. In the first place, a quantity of brand-new, 
spick-and-span clean silver is melted down into 
solid ingots. After being rolled into the desired 
thickness, they are then cut into circular forms, 
and a bar moved by machinery bends these round 
forms into the thimble shape. They are now 
ready for polishing and decorating, which work is 
done on a lathe. The indentations on the end 
and sides of the thimble are made by means of a 
wheel with sharp points. When everything is 
complete, the thimbles are boiled in strong soap- 
suds, which removes all the oil and gives them a 
peculiar brightness. 

So much for the little thumb-bell. E. M. C. 




Dear Jack : Do you know that several of our 
smaller animals are so sensitive to changes from 
heat to cold, and from dry to moist, that they fore- 
tell those changes some time in advance? 

ago I was fortunate enough to catch a tree-toad, 
and having heard of his ability as a weather- 
prophet, I put him into my glass tube and made 
from matches a small ladder so that he could 
climb up or down within the tube. I soon found 
that the approach of a change in the weather was 

ST.,. 1 ]!,! 


: te^rac 

In the Smithsonian Institution's list of animals 
valuable to man, the tree-toad is mentioned as an 
excellent weather-prophet, and I can testify to its 
power of foretelling the change in the weather. I 
have in my possession a paper-weight in the form 
of a bronze frog supporting upon its back a glass 
tube with a bulb at the bottom. Some months 

always noticed by the little prisoner, who climbed 
toward the top whenever the air grew moist or be- 
fore rain, and as invariably descended toward the 
bottom of the tube in advance of the coming of 
dry weather. I send you a picture of my little 
captive, whom I call " my living barometer." 

Your friend, C. F. H. 




l»e f^XfC a ™L HtS >»Jfe tkey Tiad a great strife; 
J. h ey never Ate Tnusta.T-<l in. all tneir whole life; 
iKev at tlieir meat without fork oi> Xflife 
And- tKev loved to teptcKiag' a. fcone-e -ok ■ 




v ^S 

i8S S .] 



», -vauTMBiE M<nXasR.'60OfERHXMt!; 

There was 

■mmy a nd, jie jhad naud kt, 

id>jc#?^Ff t;aiue to ro ], "h^. 

• : j He crept ^lp to 

trv oiirmiey- top 
-AjicL then, ttiev 

thougkt tif^Whim 
But he got down, on. 

Ik, other ^ide, 
.A11A then, they- could 
not find, Kim., 


<a??, _forJr-tien mi'lef 

fifteen, cfayj' a""*- 'neifer /aaKeJ. fie/iind/ ■ 



T HE I.E T T E R - B O X . 



By an oversight, we omitted to state in the October number of 
St. Nicholas that the large picture of the Parthenon at Athens, on 
page 943 of that issue, was used by permission of Messrs. A. and 
C. Black, of Edinburgh, Scotland, publishers of the " Encyclopaedia 
Britannica," in which the illustration originally appeared. Our 
thanks are due to Messrs. Black, and our regret that their courtesy 
failed to receive acknowledgment at the proper time. 

Cooking is as old as food, but to teach cooking to children is quite 
a new idea. Miss Huntington's book, the Cooki?ii? Garden, which 

has just been published, is intended to do this. Any mamma or 
auntie or older sister can find in this useful book carefully-planned 
lessons in cooking, so prepared as to render it possible to guide 
the children in that most delightful of all childish mysteries — "real 
cooking, just like mamma's." Miss Huntington has, by simple 
methods, changed cooking from a mystery to an inexpensive and 
enjoyable childish amusement, in which, during many a rainy day 
or leisure hour, young girls may acquire a practical knowledge that 
will prove very useful throughout their lives. The book will also 
be found of service by teachers in industrial schools. 


Canton, Ohio. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have just finished reading your nice 
October number. The piece called " How Science Won the Game " 
is a very good story, and tells of just such a game as I like to engage 
in. Eut do you think that the ball really curved ? I know it seems 
to ; I have often been misled myself, but think it an optical illusion. 
My father has carefully studied the subject of '■ curves," and claims 
it is impossible. He offered ten dollars as a premium at the Stark Co. 
Fair; but, though there are many in the county who claim to 
"curve," none dared to try it. His test was this, namely, Put 
three stakes in a row, the dots ( . ) representing them, the ring (o ) 
representing the pitcher. The pitcher can stand in any place back 
of the first stake, and need not be in the place represented by the dia- 
gram. He must throw the ball in the direction represented by the 
dotted line, or so it will pass to the left of the first stake, to the right 
ot the second, and to the left of the third, or opposite. 

O-- ... 

I think some of the readers of the St. Nicholas who claim to 
"curve " a ball may try this proof and tell the rest of us if they 
succeed. Your affectionate reader, Akthur Dart. 

We forwarded a copy of Arthur's letter to the author of the story, 
who sends us the following reply, which will interest all our boy- 
readers : 

New York, October 22, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I have read the copy of Arthur Dart's letter, 
and am not surprised at his questions. For a long time I myself 
doubted whether a ball could be made to curve, but in the summer 
of 1884, I devoted several weeks to working out the problem, and 
satisfied myself and others that it was not an optical illusion. I 
confess that I have not been able to learn why a ball curves when 
thrown in a certain way, but that it does so curve I am quite sure. 
An ivory billiard-ball struck sharply on one side will turn out of 
its natural course before reaching a cushion, and the same princi- 
ple applies to a base-ball. It is a globe. The points where the 
thumb and finger touch are the two poles. If thrown with a jerk, 
the ball revolves on its axis while in the air, and, like the ivory 
billiard-ball, deviates from its course. I know scores of pitchers who 
can perform the test proposed by Arthur's father successfully, and 
if Arthur will take a trip with me to a little village away up among 
the hills of New England, I can introduce to him the very lad who, 
by the aid of "science," won the game. 

Yours very truly, George B. M. Harvey. 


Dunmore, Pennsylvania. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I want to write and tell you about the 
twine house we made, like the one mentioned in the May number 
of St. Nicholas. We had neither the right kind of a tree nor the 
crooked sticks; so we managed in this way: We used pointed 
stakes (brother George made one hundred and twenty-three, and 
was very tired of them before he had finished) with staple-tacks in 
the heads of them, and Papa strung up wires for us, just as we 

wanted them, from two trees to the grape-arbor; and then we were 
all right. The tents are larger than those shown in your article, 
and we had so much lacing to do that we laced in squares instead 
of diamonds. I have two sisters and one brother. My brother is 
ten and my sisters are four and nine. My youngest sister's name 
is Anna, and the other one, Marjory. I am nearly thirteen. Our 
Aunty Grace, who is with us, helped ever so much. We all love 
you very much, and watch for you every month. I hope Miss 
Alcott will write some more stories. I do like her stories so much. 
Good-bye, dear St. Nicholas. From your little friend, 

Helen M — --. 

Yonkers, N. Y. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I have so long enjoyed your monthly vis- 
its that 1 feel as if I ought to write you a few lines to thank you for 
all the entertainment you have given mc. 

I always read the little letters written to you by your young 
readers, and perhaps you will acknowledge this in that way. 
While in Saratoga I saw a very pretty summer-house made of laths 
and cords covered with morning-glories; I stopped to admire it, and 
a little girl who was playing about told me she had made it, and 
that she had taken the idea from the St. Nicholas. It was so 
pretty that I have resolved to make one next spring. Perhaps some 
of your readers would like to try it. 

But I have now written a long enough letter, so I will say good- 
bye. Your devoted reader, A. S. Stone. 

Deak St. Nicholas: I have been intending to write to you for 

some time past, to tell you what great pleasure you add to our home. 
I wish to tell you that I am very fond of painting, and if any of your 
readers want designs for Christmas-cards, tell them to look through 
St. Nicholas and they will find plenty. I thought that one with 
the two children singing, called the " Christmas Carol " was lovely. 
I painted several copies on small cardboard palettes. The frontispiece 
of the May number, called "On the Road to Alibazan," I copied in 
pen and ink. It makes a lovely card if done with a very fine pen. 
I hope you will find a little corner in the Letter-box for my letter. I 
should like to see it in print, amazingly. 

Always your fond reader, ISABEL C. A. 

Forfar, Scotland. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Many of your readers, both English and 
American, have heard doubtless of heather, and of iu/11'tc heather, 
which even the best Scotch people believe brings good luck to 
the finder. — This heather grows in small patches on some moors; 
sometimes as many as fifteen or twenty patches are found, while, 
again, one can go miles and find none. — We all were surprised to find 
the extent of this belief. A man on our place, who is very poor and 
old, and to whom I often have sent food, told mc one day there was 
but one thing he wanted in the world. On asking what it was, he 
told mc he wanted a patch of land about two hundred feet square, 
on one of the moors near, which he heard was very lucky. I am 
saving "all my pennies,'' he added, "and perhaps the master will let 
me buy it." Being interested as to the truth of the statement, I went 
one ! day to see this part of the moor. He was right ; the white 
heather was thick. My father had a fence put up about the ground, 
and I went the other day to give it to him. Now he may be seen 
every fine day seated in the grass, with his pipe, quite happy- On 
Sundays, he always gives me a bunch of pink and white heather, 
mixed, and I generally put it in my dress for good luck. 



Thinking that this might interest some of your American readers, 
as it would have interested me before I came to England to live, I 
send this line, hoping you will find some place for it in the Letter-box. 
I remain, yours truly, Evelyn. 


Dear St. Nicholas : For some time I have watched, but in 
vain ; for I have not seen any letters in your interesting pages from 
this Canadian city. For the past three years you have afforded 
me much enjoyment, particularly during my free hours at a board- 

Some of your stories are so interesting, especially the papers 
concerning the great musicians. The "Brownies" and their do- 
ings amuse me very much; and I often copy your pretty illustra- 

Now, dear St. Nicholas, I shall bring my letter to an end, so 
accept every good wish that you may continue and prosper, from 
Your admiring friend, " Belinda." 

Hobart, Tasmania. 
Dear St. Nicholas: Perhaps some account of Tasmania maybe 
interesting to your readers. It was formerly called Van Dieman's 
Land, but the name was changed to Tasmania some years ago. 
The scenery is very lovely in some parts. The climate is fine, not 
very hot in summer, not very cold in winter. There is very little 
frost, and the geraniums and heliotropes grow into large bushes. 
The fern-trees are very pretty ; they will not grow in England ex- 
cept in hot-houses. The vegetables grow to a large size ; we re- 
cently saw a turnip in a green-grocer's window which weighed 
thirty-one pounds and was fifty-four inches in girth. The native 
Tasmanian cherry has the stone outside ihe fruit. Some of the wild 
animals in the bush are the Tasmanian devil, the native tiger, the 
kangaroo, and the duck-billed platypus, a very curious creature; it 
has the bill and webbed feet of a duck, and has a fur coat. Shocks 
of earthquake frequendy occur, particularly in the north part of the 
island. The harbor is very fine, and there is very good boating; 
we go out in a boat very often. We were born in Canada, but have 
traveled about a great deal since then. We remain, your constant 
readers, Wilfred and Geoffrey Bird. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I send you with this a little song which 
can be sung by children at Christmas festivals, to the air of " Nancy 
Lee." Yours truly, Charlotte Hammond. 



' N'ancy Lee.' 

Of all the friends that children know, 
There 's none like Santa Clans, I trow; 
He 's sure to be at Christmas-trees, 
For young and old he aims to please. 
Oft he does slide, while children bide, 

Down chimneys tall, 
With lots of toys for girls and boys, 

Both great and small; 
Then stockings stuffs till each one puffs 
Out like a ball. 
All hail to Santa Claus ! 

So Santa Claus the children's friend shall be, 

In ev'ry land, on ev'ry sea; 
And when, to-night, old Santa's face we see, 

We '11 give him welcome warm and free. 

The clock is on the stroke of eight! 
Sometimes, tho', Santa Claus is late; 
For lots of trees to-night there '11 be 
Which our good friend must call and see. 
But soon we'll hear him coming near. 

There at the door. 
These children all by name he '11 call, 

As oft before. 
For each there 's here, if not 't is queer, 
One gift or more. — 
All hail to Santa Claus! — Chorus. 

Shanghai, July 5, 1885. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I live in Shanghai, and, as 1 do not go to 
school or have very many playmates, you are a very welcome friend 
in this house ; and I think our little English friends will enjoy you 
just as much. They have no magazines in England like the St. 
Nicholas. My father likes the St. Nicholas too, and is reading 
"Among the Law-Makers." 

Shanghai is a very busy place, and there are a great many differ- 
entkinds of people here, mostly Chinese, of course, but among the 
foreigners there are more English than anything else. Yesterday 
(the Fourth of July) we bought some fire-crackers, and before break- 
fast we set some off; and in the morning I went on the U. S. man- 
of-war, the " Juniata " ; and after dinner I got some other buys to go 
with me to a place on the bank of the Soochovv Creek, and v*e set off 
a lot more. In the evening we had some fireworks. 

Your affectionate subscriber, Charles Drew. 

P. S. I have taken you for six months ; and I am nearly ten. 

Hilo, Hawaii, Sept. S, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Your magazine comes regularly to these 
Sandwich Islands, and is a great favorite with us all — young and 
old read it. Perhaps some of your readers in America would be 
amused with this composition, of one of our Hawaiian boys, who 
attends our English-speaking school. Arthur is a good penman, 
though he goes astray in his English; he can draw a full-rigged ship 
on the black-board that no public school boy need be ashsmed of. 
He is fourteen years old. Here is his composition, which you may 
print if you wish. One of your Hilo Readers. 

About the Lion. 

The Lion it is called the king of beasts, and it is found in Asia 
and Africa, and also it is found in South America. The Lion kind 
is like the cat kind. It have long whiskers and have paws, and have 
sharp claws, can tear the animal's body, and ha\ebig head. The 
lion can carry off a Bullock. I heard if the Lion hungry would 
not get anything to eat, he go down where houses are, and then go and 
catch men, and ran off in the woods. I heard of a story, a lion went 
into the house and saw a big glass in a room, and a sleeping en his 
bed ; the man saw the Lion, he got afraid and so he sleep, and the 
Lion look in the glass and saw a man, and he think the man in side 
of the glass, and so he jump in the glass, and the man ran to get his 
gun, and he shot him for two bullets and he dead, when the Lion 
jump into the Looking-glass, all his face scratch up. 

Arthur Iankea Akan. 

Here are five letters, received during the first half of October. 
They were written, as you will sec, in various widely severed parts 
of the world. 

Heathcliff, Plymouth R., Penarth. 

Dear St. Nicholas: You are the best magazine I ever took, 
and I like you very much. Your stories are simply splendid. I have 
read a lot about butterflies, and seeing that Miss Helen, who wrote 
an article on butterflies, could not tell what the white butterflies were, 
I will tell her that they are the common garden, white, and green- 
veined white. The swallow-tails are rare in England, and I never saw 
one alive. 

I want to tcll^ you how I stopped a fight. It was a fight between 
boys. It was n't fair, one being smaller than the other. Each round, 
the little one was thrown, and his nose was bleeding. So I stepped in 
between them andfaced the big bully, and cried, " Stop the fight! " 
Thereupon they put their coats on, and went away. 

You must excuse my writing, as I am in a hurry. I am only 
eleven, yet I am writing a novel, and, if it were not for the fear of 
being suspected of a pun, I should call it a "novel idea." 

Do print this, St. Nicholas. It would be such a surprise, since 
I have n't had one printed before. I love you very much, and 
will remain your friend and admirer, B. W. 

Mt. Lebanon, Syria. 
Dear St. Nicholas: This spring I went on a trip to Jerusalem, 
with my father and mother and two other friends ; and I should like 
to tell you about one excursion that we took, for it would take a 
whole number of St. Nicholas to tell all about the trip. The ex- 
cursion I am going to tell you about is one we took from Jerusalem 
to Bethany. We started just after lunch, on donkeys, a party of 
seven. When we had come to the foot of the Mount of Olives we 
stopped at the so-called sepulcher of the Virgin Mary. The monk 
that kept it showed us down a long flight of steps into a room which 
was hung with lamps. Right across the room was stretched a cur- 
tain, and on the other side we saw a stone that is said to be the sep- 
ulcher of the Virgin Mary. After we had left the sepulcher, we 
went to the Garden of Gethsemane, which is near by. It is kept by 
a Catholic monk. The flowers were not very beautiful, but we saw 
there some grand old olive-trees, but they are not the same that 
were there atTthe time of Christ. At intervals, all about the garden, 
were pedestals; at the top were cases which inclosed scenes of the 
crucifixion. The old priest had a cat that he seemed very much 
pleased to have us pet. As there was nothing more to see, 
we mounted our donkeys and came away- When we reached the top 
of the mountain we dismounted from our donkeys, and went up into 
a minaret, where we had a very fine view of Jerusalem. There was 
a church there, which we went into. This church was built by a 
French lady. We also saw the Lord's Prayer in thirty languages ; 




they were inscribed on tablets hung all along a corridor. After this 
we went to Bethany. Bethany is a wretched, dirty place; the 
houses are nothing but mud huts. As there was nothing to see, we 
again mounted our donkeys and came back to Jerusalem. Hoping 
to see this letter in print, 

I remain, your loving reader, Gertrude E. Porter. 

185 Madison Avenue. 

Dear St. Nicholas : We have just arrived home from our sum- 
mer trip, which was to Alaska and the Yellowstone Park, 

One morning we were on the ship in a place called Glacier Bay. 
There was a very large glacier, with great masses of ice breaking 
off it and floating about in the water. There was a pet bear on 
board ; his name was Pete, and he was a friend of all the people on 
board the ship. One day he broke his rope and tumbled overboard. 
He made for a cake of ice, which was two miles off. The captain 
stopped the ship and turned about, but soon saw that would not do, 
so he put off a boat with the mate and a crew in it. The mate called 
the bear's name very loud, and as soon as he heard his name, he 
turned in the direction he heard the sound coming from, swam to the 
boat, and when he was near enough and was about to be pulled in, 
he made a most pitiful cry ; so they left him alone, and he climbed in 
the boat himself. The men rowed for the ship, and were hoisted up 
by the davits on deck. 

And now comes the funny part ! When they pushed him over the 
side of the boat upon the deck, he jumped through the crowd and 
made all the people stampede. Then he ran at once into a lady's 
stateroom, leaped into the berth and sat on the pillow, and made the 
lady run away with her little dog, much frightened. A sailor went in 
with a collar and a rope, put the collar around his neck, and took 
him downstairs the back way ; then they tied him up. Poor Pete! 
And he never tried to get away again. 

I am five years old, but nearly six. I composed the letter, but 
my mamma wrote it, as I can only print. 

Yours truly, Walter B. H . 

We beg the young friends whose names here follow, to accept our 
sincere thanks for pleasant letters received from them: L. W. F., 
Corine V. M., Mabel H. Chase, L. Jennie Judge, Harry B. Sparks, 
C. G., William Edward Moss, Jessie M., Ida Ross, Kate Siebbins, 
Carrie May Suits, Bella and Blanche G., Eoline Russell, Johnnie 
H. Du Bois, Emily, Sam Bissell, Sadie Lewis, Sarah Raney, Egbert 
B. Shepard, Margaret, Amy Chamberlain, Bert R., Amy L., Atha 
H., Daisy Sharpe, Mabel S., Estelle Mann, George H. Shepard, Mar- 
garet Baird, Rose Marie Louis, Ella L., Lulu C, Lena B., Florence 
Wardwell, Mary W. McNair, Marie T. Morrison, Nitza and Nan, 
Carrie Cargin, W. F., Florence E. Lorey. 

To ALL the Chapters and members of the 
Agassiz Association, a Merry Christmas! If the 
greeting is a few days too early, it is not less 
sincere, and we have the satisfaction of " saying it 
first ! " We take pleasure in the thought that 
Saint Nicholas will bring to many a stocking this 
year, gifts different from those he would have 
chosen before our A. A. was organized. Micro- 
scopes and cameras and blow-pipes will replace 
candies and toys and ear-rings, and no one will 
be less happy. 

Now, as the good pastor says, ''We are re- 
quested to make the following announcements": 

1. The paper called the- Young Naturalist suspended a year ago. 

2. Mr. Hayward has stopped the manufacture of badges and 
medals, and until further notice all orders for A. A. badges may be 
sent to the President. 

It gives us pleasure to announce, without request, that Mr. G. 
W. Altman, one of our members, won the first premium at the Erie 
County fair, at Hamburg, N. Y., for his collection of insects, which 
contains more than four hundred specimens. 

Now that the snow and cold weather make col- 
lecting difficult in the Northern States, the season 
is most propitious for indoor work. All specimens 
should be carefully analyzed, neatly labeled, well 
arranged. It is very important to the success of 
a Chapter that everything be kept in what Grand- 
mother used to call " apple-pie order." 

But some things can be collected in winter — 
cocoons and birds'-nests are more easily found, as 
they are no longer hidden by leaves. Many plants 
bud in the fall and early winter, and shoots of 
these gathered and kept in water in sunny windows 
will blossom long before their natural time. 

Strange birds occasionally visit us, either alone 
or in company with snow-birds. Professor Tyn- 
dalPs very interesting experiments with ice may 
be repeated and others invented, and then we were 
to draw more snow-crystals ; not for prizes this 
time, but for the love of truth. 

Every drawing sent in will be acknowledged, 
with thanks ; and one more winter ouprht to add 



enough forms to our collection to enable us to 
draw some important generalizations. Please note, 
at time of collection, simply the temperature, and 
the date ; and let every one try, even if he never 
drew a line before ! Here are some of the drawings 
that won the first prize last winter, and very beauti- 
ful they are, painted a blue-white on a dead black. 
They came from Chapter 742, Jefferson, Ohio. 

In response to many requests, we append a few 
questions, and we shall give credit to all who send 
correct answers, unless there should be too many : 


1. Does the closed gentian ever open? 

2. At what hour of the day does chicory open ? 

3. Do the rings of a beet indicate anything re- 
garding the age of the beet ? 

4. Is the heart of an old tree ever alive ? 

5. Describe the fruit of Jack-in-the-Pulpit. 

6. How can mushrooms be distinguished from 
toad-stools ? 

7. What is the average number of ray flowers in 
the head of an ox-eye daisy ? 

8. Describe the fruit of trailing arbutus. 


1. What are the distinctions between minerals 
and rocks? 

2. What is the most common mineral? 

3. What is the most widely distributed metal ? 

4. How can gold be dissolved ? 

5. Of what mineral are ordinary dinner plates 

6. What is the meaning of the word amethyst? 

7. What is the "streak" of a mineral? 


1. What is an insect, and why so called ? 

2. How do insects breathe? 

3. Are spiders insects, — or what? 

4. How many wings has a house-fly ? A bee ? 

5. How do flies walk on a ceiling ? 

6. Do flies have to turn over and fly backward 
in order to alight on a ceiling ? — or how do they ? 

7. What do dragon-flies eat ? 

8. Give the life-history of the little black "wrig- 
glers" seen in heads of the ox-eye daisy. 


1. Describe the largest woodpecker. 

2. Describe the egg of the smallest fly-catcher. 

3. Describe the nest of the phcebe. 

4. Describe the habits of the shrike. 

5. Describe the song of a cat-bird. 

Reports of Chapters. 

424, Decorah, loiva. We take this report from a very inter- 
esting article contributed to the Advance of September by M. R. 
Steele, an honorary member of the Chapter : 

" Decorah, the beautiful capital of Winneshiek County, Iowa, is 
named after a chief of the Winnebago Indians. The city reposes 
like a nest of birds, in a deep valley, protected from fierce winds by 
the wood-crowned bluffs of the Upper Iowa River. This stream, the 
most rapid branch of the Mississippi in Iowa, should not be mistaken 
for the Iowa River, which is farther south. Our river's ox-bow 
sweep, inclosing rich alluvial flats, washes bluffs and slopes more 
than 200 feet high. The Trenton limestone, full of gigantic " straight 
horns" (oriJwceras) and other silurian fossils, invites us to collect 
and study these " oldest inhabitants" of the primitive ocean. 

After learning the general outlines of geology, we wish to study 
that of Iowa, in particular, its prairies, rivers, carboniferous and other 
deposits, and the fossils peculiar to each. 

" We have twenty members, including boys and ladies, who meet 
once a week, and ask and answer questions in writing. Some mem- 
bers write articles for a local paper, and lead our boys to the quar- 
ries in search of fossils. We hope that others may be encouraged by 
the spirit and success of our Decorah members to do likewise." 

The Secretary of this Decorah Chapter is Mrs. M. E. Bones. 

891, Sc/wnectady, N. I". {A). We have increased from six to 
nine members. Every other week we have debates, and the alter- 
nate weeks, compositions. We have debated the questions, "Do 
flying-fish fly ? " (decided in the negative) ; " Do the fore or hind legs 
of a frog appear first ?" (decided that the hind-legs do) ; " Were the 
American Indians the mound-builders? " We have had composi- 
tions on dragon-flies and asbestos. We are working hard at collecting 
specimens to be classified in the coming winter. We have meetings 
every Friday at 3 : 45 p. m., and on Monday and Wednesday nights 
we have reading meetings, when we read up geology and zoulogy. 
— E. G. Conde, Sec. 


Shells, leaves in great variety, Indian pottery, etc., for minerals 
and eggs. — Jay E. Bacon, Ormond, Florida. 

Mica crystals, beryl, rose quartz, plumose mica, and trap-rock, for 
marine specimens, fern impressions, zinc ore, and agates. — Mrs. E. 
S. Lamprey, Acworth, N. H. 

Ferns. — L. Van Ness, 1020 Green street, San Francisco, Cal. 

Insects, correctly labeled. List on application. — Ward M. Sack- 
ett, Meadville, Pa. 

" Crania Americana," or a comparative view of the skulls of vari- 
ous aboriginal nations of N. A. and S. A., pp. 297, seventy-eight 
plates, and one colored map ; folio. The book is in very good 
preservation except that its cloth binding is gone. Original cost, 
thirty dollars. Will sell for fifteen dollars, or exchange for " Insect 
Lives," "Child's Book of Nature," "Selborne," "Parables from 
Nature," and ten dollars. — A. J. Mayo, Ch. Sio, Peru, Hillsboro 
Co., Florida. 

Insects and birds' eggs. Correspondence with other Chapters 
desired. — N. M. Eberhart, Sec. Ch. 672, Chicago Lawn, 111. 

A dozen variously colored cubes of rosin. — Miss Jennie Judge, 
199 Waldburg Street, Savannah, Georgia. 

Books to be exchanged for conchological works: " Electric Light- 
ing," Morton, 82; Lesquerieux, " Cretaceous Flora," plates, 4to,'74; 
Gentry, " Life Histories of Birds''; Young's " Correlation and Con- 
servation of Forces"; Cove's "Birds of the Northwest," and many 
others.— W. D. Averill, Chestnut Hill, Pa. 

Insects, for insects. Correspondence desired with a Southern or 
Western Chapter. Only satisfactory letters answered. — Henry G. 
Field, Sec. Ch. 743, High School, Detroit, Mich. 

New Chapters. 
No. Name. No. 0/ Members. Address. 

887 Grinnell, Iowa. (A) 4. .John Houghton. 

888 Baldwinsville, N. Y. (A) .. 6.. Rev. E. B. Parsons. 
S89 Schenectady, N, Y. (A)... 9 .Miss Mary Landon. 




No. Name. No. of Members. A ddress. 

890 Logan, Ohio. (A) 5-.M. Harrington. 

891 Schenectady, N. Y. (B) . . . 5..E. G. Conde. 

892 Deer Lodge, M. T. (A) . . . . 8. .Miss Fannie I. HarL 

893 Watertown, N. Y. (B) . .8. .Miss Constance Du Bois. 

894 "Warren, Mass. (A) 30 . . Clarence Benson. 

895 Haddonfield, N. J. (A) . . . . 18. .Miss Elvira C. M. Day, Box 


896 Lake Forest, III. (A) 4. . Miss Mary W. Plummer. 


147 Cleveland, 0. (A)... 
672 Chicago (W) 

4.. Alfred E. Allen, 1264 Euclid 

1 1.. Noble M. Ebcrhart, Chicago 
Lawn, 111. 


No- Name. No. of Members. Address. 

699 Odin, Pa. (A) 4 . . Victor L. Beebe. 

866 Cleveland, 0. (C) 6..C. N. Lewis. (Members all 

removed from city.) 

757 Akron, O. (A) 3.. Miss Pauline Lane. (Mem- 

bers all removed.) 

650 Sandusky, O. (A) 5. .John Youngs, Jr. 

All are invited to join the Association. There is no charge to new 
(or old) Chapters. 

Address all communications for this department to the President 
of the A. A., 

Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, 

Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 



£ to^/:^V 





a vi<; hi 


Divide each of the seventeen letter-circles in such a way that the 
letters, in the order in which they now stand, will form a word. Each 
of these words may be divided into two words ; when properly ar- 
ranged one below another, the initials of the first perpendicular line 
form the title o( the central picture ; the initials of the second per- 
pendicular line will spell a name given to the celebration of the event 
pictured. filbert forrest. 


My first is in cream, but not in milk: 
My second in sackcloth, but not in silk ; 
My third is in darkness, but not in shine ; 
My fourth in the "vineyards" that border the Rhine; 
My fifth in the "saddle" follows the chase; 
My sixth comes in "after" with slower grace; 
My seventh in "game" which helps to make cheer; 
My eighth in a "saint" both jolly and queer. 
Who comes with my "last" in a season bright, 
When my whole floods the world with a joyous light. 



1. Transpose was solicitous to contested. 2. Transpose in that 
place to the supposed matter above the air. 3 Transpose to allure 
to move in a military manner. 4. Transpose measures of distance 

to a pleased expression. 5. Transpose a mythological charmer to 
ascended. 6. Transpose warning to a vendue. 7. Transpose as- 
certained the duration of to let fall. 8. Transpose a wall to obstruct 
the flow of water to irate. 9. Transpose wise men to fluids in the 
form of air. 

The central letters of the newly formed words will spell the tide 
of a poem by Susan Coolidge, from which the following lines are 
taken: We ring the bells and we raise the strain. 

We hang up garlands everywhere, 
And bid the tapers twinkle fair, 
And feast and frolic — and then we go 

Back to the same old lives again. dessie s. 




From i to 6, importance ; from 2 to 6, to entwine ; from 3 to 6, 
buries ; from 4 to 6, pains acutely ; from 5 to 6, fishes resembling 
trout; from 6 to 7, a division; from 3 to 7, the point on which two 
lines cut each other. 

Each semicircle contains five letters. First (from 1 to 5), a kind 
of thin muslin; second, one of ten equal parts; third, proportion ; 
fourth, an incident; five, a thin, woolen stuff. L. los REGNI. 

iss 5 .; 




Each of the words described contains five letters; the letters of 
the second row (reading downward) spell a familiar word, and the 
fourth, a characteristic emblem of the season. 


at one time. 4 
6. To scatter. 

kind of poplar. 

A rascal. 2. To fetter. 3. That which is ground 
The circumference of anything. 5. A sacred song. 
7. A worker in metals. 8. A rank of nobility. 9. A 



Upper Pyramid. Across : 1, A letter. 2. Atmosphere. 3. To 
appease. 4. Soaked in liquid- Downward: 1. A letter. 2. A 
preposition. 3. A drink. 4. To heap up. 5. A quick blow. 6. 
A pronoun. 7, A letter, 

Right-hand. Across: 1. A letter. 2. A printer's measure. 3. 
Ahorse. 4. Fastened. 5. A short poem. 6. A verb. 7. A letter. 
Downward: 1. Tooth-shaped. 2. Young unmarried women. 3. 
A word used in driving cattle. 4. A letter. 

Lower. Across : 1, Matured. 2. Drawn by a rope. 3. Moist- 
ure. 4. A letter. Downward: 1. A letter. 2. A pronoun. 
3. A capsule. 4. A water-vessel. 5. Fresh. 6. A masculine nick- 
name. 7. A letter. 

Left-hand. Across: 1. A letter. 2. A masculine nickname. 3. 
Epoch. 4. A linear measure. 5. To cut off. 6. A pronoun. 7. 
A letter. Downward : 1. A letter. 2. To be in poor health. 3. 
Very warm. 4. One who sleeps. cyril deane. 

The answer to the above rebus is five lines from a well-known 
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes. 


1. Pastoral. 2. Part of the soft palate. 3. A vague report. 4. 
Lengthwise. 5. Bulky. charlotte. 


Double Acrostic. I. Primais, Republican ; finals, Democratic. 
1. RichmonD. 2. EriE. 3. PotsdaM. 4. UrbinO. 
6. LancasteR. 7. IthacA. S. CattegaT. 9. Altai. 
II. Primais, Autumn leaves; finals, red and yellow. 

5. Balearic. 

7. La 

UrgE. 3. 
8. EasE. ( 

TenD. 4. 
. AbeL. ro 

UlnA. 5. 
VeiL. 11. 


When the pie was "penned" 

The birds began to sing. 
Was n't that a dainty disk 
To set before a king? 

2. Arc. 

Animer. 4. Ar- 







[ 3- 


Pi. The wild November comes at last 
Beneath a veil of rain; 
The night wind blows its folds aside, 
Her face is full of pain. 

The latest of her race, she takes 
The Autumn's vacant throne: 
She has but one short moon to live, 
And she must live alone. 
Double Cross-word Enigma. Indian Summer — Thanksgiving. 
Anagrammatical Word-square. i. Snare. 2. Naval. 3. 
Avoid. 4. Raise. 5. Elder. 

Magic Squares, i tog, sols ; 2 to 9, ides: 3 to 9, boas; 4 to 9, 
imps ; 5 to g, leys ; 6 to 9, ate's ; 7 to g, teas ; 8 to 9, errs Outer 
square, sibilate : middle square, odometer: inner square, leap-year. 
A Reuus. A fat kitchen makes a lean will. 

Numerical Enigma. Latin quotation: "The plant which is 
often transplanted does not prosper." Quotation from Disraeli: 
" The secret of success is constancy to purpose " 

Thp. names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas "Riddle-box," care of The Century Co.. 33 East Seventeenth St., New- York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the October Number were received, before October 20, from " B. L. Z. Bub"— Lulu May 

— Maud E. Palmer — Paul Reese — " Hill-top "— May White Ovington — Mamma and Joe— Maggie and May Turrill — " San Anselmo 
Valley"— "B. L. Z. B." Woodbury — " The Carters "— Sandyside — Judith — Reggie and Nellie—" Betsey Trotwood "—" 1 he Aztecs " 

— Francis W. Islip — " Nearthebay "—"Nippy Doo and Fidrie Aye "— B. Y. of Omaha — Fanny R. Jackson. 

Answers to Puzzles in the October Number were received, before October 20, from " Goosie and Adolphu=," 2 — Lulu. 7 — 

Anna M. Tuttle, 2 —Horace F. Lunt, 1 — Jack, Morris, and Mamma, 1 — Hat tie B. Weil, 1 Chiddingstone, 5 — T. L, S., 4 — Nellie 

Brice, 1— James Gillin. 2 —J. Haney, 3— "Old Man P.," 1— Charles Howard Williams, - — Louise Jovnes, 4— Ellen" Sedgwick, 3 — 
"The Marsh-man," 1 — Sam Bissell, 3 — Nina and Ethel, 4— Effie K. Talboys, 7 — Carrie Cargin, 1 — Marion and Albert Williams, 2 — 
Janey M. Hutchinson, 2 — Hessey D. Boylston, 2 — " Pocahontas," 1 — " Oulagiskit." 6 — Carey E. Melville, q— Ethel Camp, 1— "Seal- 
skin," t— "Pepper and Maria." 6— Emma St. C. Whitney, 8 — S. S , 8 — M. B. B . r — "Jack Sprat," 6— Clarice M. Petremnnt. 3 — 
A Six-year-old, 1 — Carrie C. Howard, 6 - Eleanor and Maude Peart, 6 — " Old Carthusian," 4 — E. Muriel, M. Margaret, and E W. 
Grundy, 7— Edith L. Young, s~ — Olive and Ida Gibson. 4 — Tennie, Papa, and Mamma, g — George T. Bourne, 1 — Lena S. Crawford, 
1 — Mary B., 6— Ralph, 3 — Helen E. Howell, 7 — Fred A. Hamilton, 5— Mary P. Stockett, 7 — Tom W. Wright. 4 — Kate Lovett. 7 — 
Hallie Couch, 7 — Lizzie A. Atwater, 6 — L. L. R., 4 — Agnes W. Thomas, 8 — " Katy Did," 6. 

10. NeraC. 
MaiN. 6. NeeD. 
ErgO. 12. StoW. 

Illustrated Puzzle. 

Sing a song of sixpence, 
A pocket full of rye, 

Four and twenty blackbirds 
Baked in a pie. 

Geographical Diamond. : 
menia. 5. Cento. 6. Rio. 7. 

Word Syncopations. Reunion of hearts. 
Por-tEn-ts. 3. At-tUn-e. 4. Br-aNd-ed. 
S-tOw-ing. 7. C-aNn-on. 8, S-cOw-led. 
Ma-sHe-d. n. S-tEa-ling. 12. Re-bAt-ed. 
Pen-aTe-s. 15. B-aSk-ed. 





cS%ybini° tometlt 




Vol. XIII. 

JANUARY, 1 886. 


[Copyright, 1885, by The CENTURY CO.; 


By W. D. Howells. 

The little girl came into her papa's study, as 
she always did Saturday morning before breakfast, 
and asked for a story. He tried to beg off that 
morning, for he was very busy, but she would not 
let him. So he began : 

" Well, once there was a little pig " 

She put her hand over his mouth and stopped 
him at the word. She said she had heard little 
pig stories till she was perfectly sick of them. 

•' Well, what kind of story shall I tell, then ? " 

"About Christmas. It 's getting to be the 
season. It 's past Thanksgiving already." 

" It seems to me," argued her papa, " that I 've 
told as often about Christmas as I have about 
little pigs." 

"No difference! Christmas is more interest- 

"Well!" Her papa roused himself from his 
writing by a great effort. " Well, then, I '11 tell 
you about the little girl that wanted it Christmas 
every day in the year. How would you like that ? " 

"First-rate!" said the little girl; and she 
nestled into comfortable shape in his lap, ready for 

" Very well, then, this little pig, Oh, what 

are you pounding me for ? " 

" Because you said little pig instead of little 

" I should like to know what 's the difference 
between a little pk; and a little girl that wanted it 
Christmas every day ! " 

" Papa," said the little girl, warningly, " if you 

don't go on, I '11 give it to you ! " And at this 
her papa darted off like lightning, and began to 
tell the story as fast as he could. 

Well, once there was a little girl who liked 
Christmas so much that she wanted it to be Christ- 
mas every day in the year ; and as soon as Thanks- 
giving was over she began to send postal cards to 
the old Christmas Fairy to ask if she might n't 
have it. But the old Fairy never answered any of 
the postals ; and, after a while, the little girl found 
out that the Fairy was pretty particular, and 
would n't notice anything but letters, not even 
correspondence cards in envelopes ; but real letters 
on sheets of paper, and sealed outside with a mon- 
ogram, — or your initial, any way. So, then, she 
began to send her letters ; and in about three 
weeks — or just the day before Christmas, it was 
— she got a letter from the Fairy, saying she 
might have it Christmas every day for a year, and 
then they would see about having it longer. 

The little girl was a good deal excited already, 
preparing for the old-fashioned, once-a-year Christ- 
mas that was coming the next day, and perhaps 
the Fairy's promise did n't make such an im- 
pression on her as it would have made at some 
other time. She just resolved to keep it to her- 
self, and surprise everybody with it as it kept 
coming true ; and then it slipped out of her mind 

She had a splendid Christmas. She went to 
bed early, so as to let Santa Claus have a chance 




at the stockings, and in the morning she was up 
the first of anybody and went and felt them, and 
found hers all lumpy with packages of candy, 
and oranges and grapes, and pocket-books and 
rubber balls and all kinds of small presents, and 
her big brother's with nothing but the tongs in 
them, and her young lady sister's with a new silk 
umbrella, and her papa's and mamma's with po- 
tatoes and pieces of coal wrapped up in tissue 
paper, just as they always had every Christmas. 
Then she waited around till the rest of the family- 
were up, and she was the first to burst into the 
library, when the doors were opened, and look at 
the large presents laid out on the library-table — 
books, and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and 
breast-pins, and dolls, and little stoves, and dozens 
of handkerchiefs, and ink-stands, and skates, and 
snow-shovels, and photograph-frames, and little 
easels, and boxes of water-colors, and Turkish paste, 
and nougat, and candied cherries, and dolls' houses, 

pouring in that the expressman had not had time 
to deliver the night before; and she went 'round 
giving the presents she had got for other people, 
and came home and ate turkey and cranberry for 
dinner, and plum-pudding and nuts and raisins 
and oranges and more candy, and then went out 
and coasted and came in with a stomach-ache, cry- 
ing ; and her papa said he would see if his house 
was turned into that sort of fool's paradise another 
year ; and they had a light supper, and pretty 
early everybody went to bed cross. 

Here the little girl pounded her papa in the 
back, again. 

" Well, what now ? Did I say pigs ? " 

" You made them act like pigs." 

" Well, did n't they?" 

"No matter; you ought n't to put it into a 

" Very well, then, I 'II take it all out." 


and waterproofs, — and the big Christmas-tree, 
lighted and standing in a waste-basket in the 

She had a splendid Christmas all day. She ate 
so much candy that she did not want any break- 
fast ; and the whole forenoon the presents kept 

Her father went on : 

The little girl slept very heavily, and she slept 
very late, but she was wakened at last by the other 
children dancing 'round her bed with their stock- 
ings full of presents in their hands. 


16 5 

"What is it?" said the little girl, and she 
rubbed her eyes and tried to rise up in bed. 

"Christmas! Christmas! Christmas!" they 
all shouted, and waved their stockings. 

" Nonsense ! It was Christmas yesterday." 

Her brothers and sisters just laughed. "We 
don't know about that. It 's Christmas to-day, 
any way. You come into the library and see." 

Then all at once it flashed on the little girl that 
the Fairy was keeping her promise, and her year of 
Christmases was beginning. She was dreadfully 
sleepy, but she sprang up like a lark — a lark that 
had overeaten itself and gone to bed cross — and 
darted into the library. There it was again ! Books, 
and portfolios, and boxes of stationery, and breast- 

" You need n't go over it all, Papa; I guess I can 
remember just what was there," said the little girl. 

Well, and there was the Christmas-tree blazing 
away, and the family picking out their presents, 
but looking pretty sleepy, and her father perfectly 
puzzled, and her mother ready to cry. " I 'm 
sure I don't see how I 'm to dispose of all these 
things," said her mother, and her father said it 
seemed to him they had had something just like it 
the day before, but he supposed he must have 
dreamed it. This struck the little girl as the best 
kind of a joke ; and so she ate so much candy she 
did n't want any breakfast, and went 'round carry- 
ing presents, and had turkey and cranberry for 
dinner, and then went out and coasted, and came 
in with a 

day, and it did n't skip even the First of April, 
though everything was counterfeit that day, and 
that was some little relief. 

After a while, coal and potatoes began to be 
awfully scarce, so many had been wrapped up in 
tissue paper to fool papas and mammas with. Tur- 
keys got to be about a thousand dollars apiece 

" Papa ! " 

"Well, what?" 

" You 're beginning to fib." 

"Well, two thousand, then." 

And they got to passing off almost anything for 
turkeys, — half-grown humming-birds, and even 
rocs out of the "Arabian Nights," — the real tur- 
keys were so scarce. And cranberries — well, they 
asked a diamond apiece for cranberries. All the 
woods and orchards were cut down for Christmas- 
trees, and where the woods and orchards used to be, 
it looked just like a stubble-field, with the stumps. 
After a while they had to make Christmas-trees 
out of rags, and stuff them with bran, like old- 
fashioned dolls ; but there were plenty of rags, 
because people got so poor, buying presents for one 
another, that they could n't get any new clothes, 
and they just wore their old ones to tatters. They 
got so poor that everybody had to go to the poor- 
house, except the confectioners, and the fancy 
store-keepers, and the picture -booksellers, and 
the expressmen ; and they all got so rich and 
proud that they would hardly wait upon a person 
when he came to buy; it was perfectly shameful ! 

Well, after it had gone on about three or four 

" Papa ! " 

" Well, what now? " 

"What did you promise, you forgetful thing?" 

"Oh! oh, yes! " 

Well, the next day, it was just the same thing 
over again, but everybody getting crosser ; and 
at the end of a week's time so many people 
had lost their tempers that you could pick up lost 
tempers anywhere ; they perfectly strewed the 
ground. Even when people tried to recover their 
tempers they usually got somebody else's, and it 
made the most dreadful mix. 

The little girl began to get frightened, keeping 
the secret all to herself; she wanted to tell her 
mother, but she did n't dare to ; and she was 
ashamed to ask the Fairy to take back her gift, it 
seemed ungrateful and ill-bred, and she thought 
she would try to stand it, but she hardly knew how 
she could, for a whole year. So it went on and 
on, and it was Christmas on St. Valentine's Day, 
and Washington's Birthday just the same as any 


months, the little girl, whenever she came into the 
room in the morning and saw those great ugly lumpy 
stockings dangling at the fire-place, and the dis- 
gusting presents around everywhere, used to just 

1 66 



sit down and burst out crying. In six months she flowed, and then they used to let them lie out in 

was perfectly exhausted ; she could n't even cry the rain, or anywhere. Sometimes the police used 

any more ; she just lay on the lounge and rolled to come and tell them to shovel their presents off 

her eyes and panted. About the beginning of the sidewalk, or they would arrest them. 

" I thought you said everybody had gone to the 
poor-house," interrupted the little girl. 

"They did go, at first," said her papa; "but 
after a while the poor-houses got so full that they 
had to send the people back to their own houses. 
They tried to cry, when they got back, but they 
could n't make the least sound." 

" Why could n't they?" 

"Because they had lost their voices, saying 
' Merry Christmas ' so much. Did I tell you how 
it was on the Fourth of July ? " 

" No ; how was it ? " And the little girl nestled 
closer, in expectation of something uncommon. 

Well, the night before, the boys staid up 
to celebrate, as they always do, and fell asleep 


October she took to sitting down on dolls, 
wherever she found them, — French dolls, or any 
kind, — she hated the sight of them so ; and by 
Thanksgiving she was crazy, and just slammed 
her presents across the room. 

By that time people did n't carry presents 
around nicely any more. They flung them over 
the fence, or through the window, or anything ; 

and, instead of running their tongues out and taking 
great pains to write " For dear Papa," or " Mam- 
ma," or " Brother," or "Sister," or " Susie," or 
" Sammie," or "Billie," or "Bobby," or " Jim- 
mie," or " Jennie," or whoever it was, and troub- 
ling to get the spelling right, and then signing 
their names, and "'Xmas, 188 — ," they used to 
write in the gift-books, "Take it, you horrid old 
thing ! " and then go and bang it against the front 
door. Nearly everybody had built barns to hold 
their presents, but pretty soon the barns over- 

before twelve o'clock, as usual, expecting to be 
wakened by the bells and cannon. But it was 
nearly eight o'clock before the first boy in the 
United States woke up, and then he found out 
what the trouble was. As soon as he could get 
his clothes on, he ran out of the house and 
smashed a big cannon-torpedo down on the pave- 
ment ; but it did n't make any more noise than a 
damp wad of paper, and, after he tried about 
twenty or thirty more, he began to pick them up 
and look at them. Every single torpedo was a big 



raisin ! Then he just streaked it upstairs, and 
examined his hre-crackers and toy-pistol and two- 
dollar collection of fireworks, and found that they 
were nothing but sugar and candy painted up to 
look like fireworks ! Before ten o'clock, every boy 
in the United States found out that his Fourth of 
July things had turned into Christmas things ; 
and then they just sat down and cried, — they were 
so mad. There are about twenty million boys in 
the United States, and so you can imagine what 
a noise they made. Some men got together 
before night, with a little powder that had n't 
turned into purple sugar yet, and they said they 
would fire off one cannon, anyway. But the can- 
non burst into a thousand pieces, for it was nothing 
but rock-candy, and some of the men nearly got 
killed. The Fourth of July orations all turned 
into Christmas carols, and when anybody tried to 
read the Declaration, instead of saying, "When 
in the course of human events it becomes neces- 
sary," he was sure to sing, "God rest you, merry 
gentlemen." It was perfectly awful. 

The little girl drew a deep sigh of satisfaction. 
" And how was it at Thanksgiving ? " she asked. 
Her papa hesitated. " Well, I 'm almost afraid 
to tell you. I 'm afraid you '11 think it 's wicked." 
" Well, tell, any way," said the little girl. 

Well, before it came Thanksgiving, it had 
leaked out who had caused all these Christmases. 
The little girl had suffered so much that she had 
talked about it in her sleep ; and after that, hardly 
anybody would play with her. People just per- 
fectly despised her, because if it had not been for 
her greediness, it would n't have happened ; and 
now, when it came Thanksgiving, and she wanted 
them to go to church, and have squash-pie and 
turkey, and show their gratitude, they said that 
all the turkeys had been eaten up for her old 
Christmas dinners, and if she would stop the 
Christmases, they would see about the gratitude. 
Was n't it dreadful ? And the very next day the 
little girl began to send letters to the Christmas 
Fairy, and then telegrams, to stop it. But it 
did n't do any good ; and then she got to calling 
at the Fairy's house, but the girl that came to the 
door always said " Not at home," or "Engaged," 
or " At dinner," or something like that; and so it 
went on till it came to the old once-a-year Christ- 
mas Eve. The little girl fell asleep, and when 
she woke up in the morning 

" She found it was all nothing but a dream." 
suggested the little girl. 

"No, indeed!" said her papa. "It was all 
every bit true ! " 

" Well, what did she find out then ? " 

" Why, that it was n't Christmas at last, and 
was n't ever going to be, any more. Now it 's 
time for breakfast." 

The little girl held her papa fast around the 

" You sha'n't go if you 're going to leave it so ! " 

" How do you want it left ? " 

" Christmas once a year." 

" All right," said her papa ; and he went on 

Well, there was the greatest rejoicing all 
over the country, and it extended clear up into 
Canada. The people met together everywhere, 
and kissed and cried for joy. The city carts went 
around and gathered up all the candy and raisins 
and nuts, and dumped them into the river ; and 
it made the fish perfectly sick ; and the whole 
United States, as far out as Alaska, was one blaze 
of bonfires, where the children were burning up 
their gift-books and presents of all kinds. They 
had the greatest time ! 

The little girl went to thank the old Fairy be- 
cause she had stopped its being Christmas, and 
she said she hoped she would keep her promise, 
and see that Christmas never, never came again. 
Then the Fairy frowned, and asked her if she 
was sure she knew what she meant ; and the little 
girl asked her, why not ? and the old Fairy said that 
now she was behaving just as greedily as ever, and 
she 'd better look out. This made the little girl 
think it all over carefully again, and she said she 
would be willing to have it Christmas about once 
in a thousand years ; and then she said a hundred, 
and then she said ten, and at last she got down to 
one. Then the Fairy said that was the good old 
way that had pleased people ever since Christ- 
mas began, and she was agreed. Then the little 
girl said, " What 're your shoes made of ? " And 
the Fairy said, " Leather." And the little girl 
said, " Bargain 's done forever," and skipped off, 
and hippity-hopped the whole way home, she was 
so glad. 

" How will that do ? " asked the papa. 

"First-rate!" said the little girl; but she 
hated to have the story stop, and was rather sober. 
However, her mamma put her head in at the door, 
and asked her papa : 

"Are you never coming to breakfast? What 
have you been telling that child ? " 

" Oh, just a moral tale." 

The little girl caught him around the neck 

" We know! Don't you tell what, Papa! 
Don't you tell what! " 

1 68 




Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

|EDRIC'S good opinion of 
the advantages of be- 
ing an earl increased 
greatly during the next 
week. It seemed almost 
impossible for him to 
realize that there was 
scarcely anything he 
might wish to do which 
he could not do easily; in fact I think it may 
be said that he did not fully realize it at all. But 
at least he understood, after a few conversations 
with Mr. Havisham, that he could gratify all his 
nearest wishes, and he proceeded to gratify them 
with a simplicity and delight which caused Mr. 
Havisham much diversion. In the week before 
they sailed for England, he did many curious 
things. The lawyer long after remembered the 
morning they went down-town together to pay a 
visit to Dick, and the afternoon they so amazed 
the apple-woman of ancient lineage by stopping 

before her stall and telling her she was to have a 
tent, and a stove, and a shawl, and a sum of money 
which seemed to her quite wonderful. 

" For I have to go to England and be a lord," 
explained Cedric, sweet-temperedly. "And I 
should n't like to have your bones on my mind 
every time it rained. My own bones never hurt, so 
I think I don't know how painful a person's bones 
can be, but I 've sympathized with you a great 
deal, and I hope you '11 be better." 

" She 's a very good apple-woman," he said to 
Mr. Havisham, as they walked away, leaving the 
proprietress of the stall almost gasping for breath, 
and not at all believing in her great fortune. 
" Once, when I fell down and cut my knee, she gave 
me an apple for nothing. I 've always remembered 
her for it. You know you always remember 
people who are kind to you." 

It had never occurred to his honest, simple, 
little mind that there were people who could forget 

The interview with Dick was quite exciting. 
Dick had just been having a great deal of trou- 
ble with Jake, and was in low spirits when they 
saw him. His amazement when Cedric calmly 
announced that they had come to give him what 
seemed a very great thing to him, and would set 
all his troubles right, almost struck him dumb. 
Lord Fauntleroy's manner of announcing the object 
of his visit was very simple and unceremonious. 
Mr. Havisham was much impressed by its di- 
rectness as he stood by and listened. The state- 
ment that his old friend had become a lord, and 
was in danger of being an earl if he lived long 
enough, caused Dick to so open his eyes and 
mouth, and start, that his cap fell off. When he 
picked it up, he uttered a rather singular exclama- 
tion. Mr. Havisham thought it singular, but 
Cedric had heard it before. 

"I soy!" he said, "what 're yer givin' us?" 
This plainly embarrassed his lordship a little, but 
he bore himself bravely. 

" Everybody thinks it not true at first," he said. 
" Mr. Hobbs thought I 'd had a sunstroke. I did 
n't think I was going to like it myself, but I like 
it better now I 'm used to it. The one who is the 
earl now — he 's my grandpapa ; and he wants me 
to do anything I like. He 's very kind, if he is an 
earl; and he sent me a lot of money by Mr. Havi- 
sham, and I 've brought some to you to buy Jake 



And the end of the matter was that Dick actually he stared at his young benefactor and felt as if he 

bought Jake out, and found himself the pos- might wake up at any moment. He scarcely 

sessor of the business, and some new brushes and seemed to realize anything until Cedric put out his 

a most astonishing sign and outfit. He could not hand to shake hands with him before going away. 


believe in his good luck any more easily than the " Well, good-bye," he said; and though he tried 
apple-woman of ancient lineage could believe in to speak steadily, there was a little tremble in his 
hers; he walked about like a boot-black in a dream ; voice and he winked his big brown eyes. "And 




I hope trade '11 be good. I'm sorry I 'm going 
away to leave you, but perhaps I shall come back 
again when I 'm an earl. And I wish you 'd write 
to me, because we were always good friends. And 
if you write to me, here 's where you must send 
your letter." And he gave him a slip of paper. 
" And my name is n't Cedric Errol any more ; it 's 
Lord Fauntleroy and — and good-bye, Dick." 

Dick winked his eyes also, and yet they looked 
rather moist about the lashes. He was not an 
educated boot-black, and he would have found it 
difficult to tell what he felt just then, if he had tried; 
perhaps that was why he did n't try, and only 
winked his eyes and swallowed a lump in his 

" I wish ye was n't goin' away," he said in a 
husky voice. Then he winked his eyes again. 
Then he looked at Mr. Havisham and touched his 
cap. " Thanky, sir, fur bringin' him down here an' 
fur wot ye 've done. He 's — he 's a queer little fel- 
ler," he added. " I 've allers thort a heap of him. 
He 's such a game little feller, an' — an' such a 
queer little un." 

And when they turned away he stood and looked 
after them in a dazed kind of way, and there was 
still a mist in his eyes, and a lump in his throat, as 
he watched the gallant little figure marching 
gayly along by the side of its tall, rigid escort. 

Until the day of his departure, his lordship 
spent as much time as possible with Mr. Hobbs in 
the store. Gloom had settled upon Mr. Hobbs; he 
was much depressed in spirits. When his young 
friend brought to him in triumph the parting gift 
of a gold watch and chain, Mr. Hobbs found it 
difficult to acknowledge it properly. He laid the 
case on his stout knee, and blew his nose violently 
several times. 

" There 's something written on it," said Ced- 
ric, — " inside the case. I told the man myself 
what to say. ' From his oldest friend, Lord Faunt- 
leroy, to Mr. Hobbs. When this you see, remem- 
ber me.' I don't want you to forget me." 

Mr. Hobbs blew his nose very loudly again. 

" I sha'n't forget you," he said, speaking a 
trifle huskily, as Dick had spoken; "nor don't 
you go and forget me when you get among the 
British arrystocracy." 

" I should n't forget you, whoever I was among," 
answered his lordship. " I 've spent my happiest 
hours with you ; at least, some of my happiest 
hours. I hope you '11 come to see me some time. 
I 'm sure my grandpapa would be very much 
pleased. Perhaps he '11 write and ask you, when 
I tell him about you. You — you would n't mind 
his being an earl, would you ? I mean you would 
n't stay away just because he was one, if he invited 
you to come ? " 

" I 'd come to see you," replied Mr. Hobbs, 

So it seemed to be agreed that if he received a 
pressing invitation from the earl to come and 
spend a few months at Dorincourt Castle, he was 
to lay aside his republican prejudices and pack 
his valise at once. 

At last all the preparations were complete ; 
the day came when the trunks were taken to the 
steamer, and the hour arrived when the carriage 
stood at the door. Then a curious feeling of lone- 
liness came upon the little boy. His mamma had 
been shut up in her room for some time ; when 
she came down the stairs, her eyes looked large and 
wet, and her sweet mouth was trembling. Cedric 
went to her, and she bent down to him, and he 
put his arms around her, and they kissed each 
other. He knew something made them both 
sorry, though he scarcely knew what it was; but 
one tender little thought rose to his lips. 

" We liked this little house, Dearest, did n't 
we?" he said. "We always will like it, wont 
we ? " 

"Yes — yes," she answered, in a low, sweet 
voice. " Yes, darling." 

And then they went into the carriage and Cedric 
sat very close to her, and as she looked back out 
of the window, he looked at her and stroked her 
hand and held it close. 

And then, it seemed almost directly, they were on 
the steamer in the midst of the wildest bustle and 
confusion ; carriages were driving down and leav- 
ing passengers ; passengers were getting into a 
state of excitement about baggage which had not 
arrived and threatened to be too late ; big trunks 
and cases were being bumped down and dragged 
about ; sailors were uncoiling ropes and hurrying to 
and fro ; officers were giving orders ; ladies and 
gentlemen and children and nurses were coming 
on board, — some were laughing and looked gay, 
some were silent and sad, here and there two 
or three were crying and touching their eyes with 
their handkerchiefs. Cedric found something 
to interest him on every side ; he looked at the 
piles of rope, at the furled sails, at the tall, tall 
masts which seemed almost to touch the hot blue 
sky ; he began to make plans for conversing with 
the sailors and gaining some information on the 
subject of pirates. 

It was just at the very last, when he was stand- 
ing leaning on the railing of the upper deck and 
watching the final preparations, enjoying the ex- 
citement and the shouts of the sailors and wharf- 
men, that his attention was called to a slight bustle 
in one of the groups not far from him. Some one 
was hurriedly forcing his way through this group 
and coming toward him. It was a boy, with some- 




thing red in his hand. It was Dick. He came up 
to Cedric quite breathless. 

" I 've run all the way," he said. " I 've come 
down to see ye off. Trade 's been prime ! I bought 
this for ye out o' what I made yesterday. Ye 
kin wear it when ye get among the swells. I 
lost the paper when I was tryin' to get through 
them fellers downstairs. They did n't want to let 
me up. It 's a hankercher." 

He poured it all forth as if in one sentence. A 
bell rang, and he made a leap away before Cedric 
had time to speak. 

"Good-bye!" he panted. "Wear it when ye 
get among the swells." And he darted off and 
was gone. 

A few seconds later they saw him struggle 
through the crowd on the lower deck, and rush on 
shore just before the gang-plank was drawn in. 
He stood on the wharf and waved his cap. 

Cedric held the handkerchief in his hand. It 
was of bright red silk ornamented with purple 
horseshoes and horses' heads. 


There was a great straining and creaking and 
confusion. The people on the wharf began to 
shout to their friends, and the people on the 
steamer shouted back : 

"Good-bye! Good-bye! Good-bye, oldfellow!" 
Every one seemed to be saying, " Don't forget 
us. Write when you get to Liverpool. Good- 
bye ! " Good-bye ! " 

Little Lord Fauntleroy leaned forward and 
waved the red handkerchief. 

"Good-bye, Dick! "he shouted, lustily. "Thank 
you ! Good-bye, Dick ! " 

And the big steamer moved away, and the 
people cheered again, and Cedric's mother drew 
the veil over her eyes, and on the shore there was 
left great confusion ; but Dick saw nothing save 
that bright, childish face and the bright hair that 
the sun shone on and the breeze lifted, and he heard 
nothing but the hearty childish voice calling 
" Good-bye, Dick ! " as little Lord Fauntleroy 
steamed slowly away from the home of his birth 
to the unknown land of his ancestors. 
'ontinwed. ) 




little girl with golden hair 

J/i Was rockinq in herqrand-ma's chair, 


1 When in there walked, a Stranger Cat_ 

(Tm sure there's nothing strange in that.) 

t was a Cat with kinky ears 
And very aged for it's years. 
The little girl remarked "0 Scat!* 
(I think there's nothing strange in that) 



?jf|uT presently with stealthy tread 


?' The cat, which at her word had tied. 

Returned with cane, and boots and har_ <Wfr'&*lnlfc 

j$MM I ( I fear there's something strange in that.) 


1 V^ CI 





xcuse me* and the cat bowed low, 
;'p hate to trouble you, you know, 
;%T- : ',' But tell me, have you seen a rat ?* 

d§EiS$ !i (\ know there's something strange in that) JJKsJ 





he little girl was very shy_ 
;fWell really I cant say that I 


'I (I'm sure there's something strange in that) 

ave seen one lately, Mr Cat." 


Xj) haven't you? 11 the Cat replied; 
/["Thanks, I am deeply gratified. 
I really couldn't eat a rat.' 7 

(We all know what to think of that.) . 

nd then the Cat with kinky ears 
And so much wisdom for its years 
[Retired, with a soft pit-a-pat 
(And that was all there was of that). 

N.P. Babcock. 






By Hezekiah Butter-worth. 

There were no Christmas celebrations in my old 
Puritan home in Swanzey, such as we have in all 
New England homes to-day. No church bells rung 
out in the darkening December air: there were no 
children's carols learned in Sunday-schools ; no 
presents, and not even a sprig of box, ivy, or pine 
in any window. Yet there was one curious custom 
in the old town that made Christmas Eve in many 
homes the merriest in the year. 

It was the burning of the Christmas candle; 
and of this old, forgotten custom of provincial 
towns I have an odd story to tell. 

The Christmas candle? You may never have 
heard of it. You may fancy that it was some beauti- 
ful image in wax or like an altar-light. This was not 
the case. It was a candle containing a quill filled 
with gunpowder, and its burning excited an in- 
tense interest while we waited for the expected 

I well remember Dipping Candle Day ; it was a 
very interesting day to me in my boyhood, be- 
cause it was then that the Christmas candle was 

It usually came in the fall, in the short, lone- 
some days of November, just before the new 
school-master opened the winter term of the school. 

My grandmother brought down from the garret 
her candle-rods and poles. The candle-rods were 
light sticks of elder, some fifty in number, and the 
poles were long pine bars. These poles were tied 
two each to two chairs, and the rods, after they 
had been wicked, were laid upon them at short 
distances apart. 

Wicking the candle-rods is a term of which few 
people to-day know the meaning. Every country 
store in old times contained a large supply of balls 
of cotton candle-wick. This wick was to be cut, 
put upon the candle-rods, twisted, and tallowed or 
waxed, so as to be convenient for dipping. 

How many times have I seen my grandmother, 
on the long November evenings, wicking her candle- 
rods ! She used to do the work, sitting in her easy- 
chair before the great open fire. One side of the 
fire-place was usually hung with strings of dried or 
partly dried apples, and the other with strings of red 
peppers. Over the fire-place were a gun and the 
almanac ; and on the hearth there were usually, in 
the evening, a few sweet apples roasting; and at 
one end of it was the dog, and at the other the cat. 

Dipping candles would seem a comical sight to- 
day. My grandmother used to sit over a great 
iron kettle of melted tallow, and patiently dip the 
wicks on the rods into it, until they grew to the 
size of candles. Each rod contained about five 
wicks, and these were dipped together. The proc- 
ess was repeated perhaps fifty or more times. 

A quill of powder was tied to the wick of the 
Christmas candle before dipping, and the wick 
was so divided at the lower end that the candle 
should have three legs. The young people took a 
great interest in the dipping as well as the burn- 
ing of the Christmas candle. 

My grandmother's candle-rods had belonged to 
her grandmother, who had lived in the early days 
of the Plymouth Colony. They had been used 
since the days of King Philip's war. 

There was a story of the dark times of the 
Indian war that my grandmother used to relate on 
the night that we burned our Christmas candle ; 
a story that my grandmother told of her grand- 
mother, and of the fortunate and timely explosion 
of one of that old lady's Christmas candles in 
the last days of Philip's war, when the sight of a 
hostile Indian was a terror to the unarmed 

" It was well that candle went off when it did," 
my grandmother used to say. "If it had not, I 
don't know where any of us would have been to- 
night ; not here, telling riddles and roasting 
apples and enjoying ourselves, I imagine. I 
have dipped a powder-candle every season since, 
not that I believe much in keeping holidays, but 
because a powder-candle once saved the family." 

She continued her story : 

" My grandmother was a widow in her last 
years. She had two children, Benjamin and my 
mother, Mary. She lived at Pocassett, and the 
old house overlooked Mount Hope and the bay. 
Pocassett was an Indian province then, and its 
Indian queen was named Wetamoo. 

" My grandmother was a great-hearted woman. 
She had a fair amount of property, and she used 
it for the good of her less fortunate neighbors. 
She had kept several poor old people from the 
town-house by giving them a home with her. Her 
good deeds caused her to be respected by every 

" The Indians were friendly to her. She had 



done them so many acts of kindness that even the 
haughty Wetamoo had once called to see her and 
made her a present. The old house was near an 
easy landing-place for boats on the bay; and the 
Indians, as they came from their canoes, passed 
through the yard, and often stopped to drink from 
the well. It was no uncommon thing, on a hot 
summer's day, to find an Indian asleep in the street 
or under the door-yard trees. 

" Among the great men of the tribe was an In- 
dian named Squammaney ; Warmmesley he was 
sometimes called — also Warmmesley-Squamma- 
ney. He was a giant in form, but his greatness 
among his people arose from his supposed magical 
power and his vigorous voice. It was believed that 
he could whoop and bellow so loud and long as 
to frighten away evil spirits from the sick, so that 
the patient would recover. All the Indians regard- 
ed old Squammaney with fear and awe, and he 
was very proud of his influence over them. 

" When an Indian fell sick, Warmmesley- 
Squammaney was called to the bed-side. If old 
Warmmesley could not drive the evil spirits away, 
the patient believed that he must die. 

" Squammaney did his supposed duty in such 
cases. He was a faithful doctor. He covered 
himself with dried skins, shells, and feathers, and 
approached the hut of the patient with as mys- 
terious and lofty an air as one of the old-time 
physicians of the gig and saddle-bags. As he 
drew near the hut, he would rattle the dried skins, 
and howl. He would look cautiously into the hut, 
then run away from it a little distance, leap into 
the air, and howl. Then he would cautiously 
return, and if the case were a bad one, he would 
again run away, leap into the air, and howl. At 
last he would enter the hut, examine the sick man 
or woman, and utter mysterious cries. He would fix 
the mind of the sufferer entirely upon himself by a 
kind of mesmeric influence ; then he would begin 
to move in a circle around the patient, shaking the 
dried skins and beads, bobbing his plumes, and 
chanting an Indian ditty. Gradually his move- 
ments would become more swift ; he would howl 
and leap, his voice rising higher at every bound ; 
he would continue this performance until he fell 
down all in a heap, like a tent of dried skins. But 
by this time the mind of the patient was usually 
so withdrawn from his sufferings as to quite forget 
them ; and consequently it often happened that 
the invalid and old Warmmesley-Squammaney 
rose up together, and indulged in hand-shaking, 
thus concluding an exhibition of some of the re- 
markable effects of mesmeric influence, which were 
possible in those old times as well as now. 

" In his peculiar way, old Warmmesley once 
cured of rheumatism a Puritan deacon who re- 

warded him by calling him a ' pagan.' The deacon 
had been confined to his room for weeks. Some 
Indians called to see him, and, pitying his condition, 
set off in great haste for Warmmesley. The latter 
came, in his dried skins, with his head bristling 
with horns and feathers. The astonished deacon 
forgot his infirmities at the first sight of the ter- 
rible object ; and as soon as Warmmesley began 
to leap and howl, and shake his beads, shells, 
and dried skins, the white man leaped from his 
bed, and, running to the barn, knelt down and 
began to pray. There his wife found him. 

" ' It is old Warmmesley,' said she. 

" ' The old pagan ! ' said he, rising up. ' What 
was it, Ruth, that was the matter with me ? ' 

" My grandmother had caught the spirit of 
Eliot, the Indian apostle, and she used to hold in 
the old kitchen a religious meeting, each week, 
for the instruction of the ' praying Indians ' of 
the town. The Indians who became Christians 
were called ' praying Indians ' by their own peo- 
ple, and came to be so called by the English. 
Among the Indians who came out of curiosity, 
was the beautiful Princess Amie, the youngest 
daughter of the great chief Massasoit, who pro- 
tected Plymouth Colony for nearly forty years. 

" Warmmesley came once to my grandmother's 
meetings, and tried to sing. He wished to out- 
sing the rest, and he did, repeating over and over 
again : 

" ' He lub poor Indian in de wood, 
An' me lub God, and dat be good : 
I '11 praise him two times mo' ! ' 

"Just before the beginning of the Indian war, 
my grandmother offended Warmmesley. The 
English had taught him bad habits, and he had 
become a cider drinker. He used to wander about 
the country, going from farm-house to farm-house, 
begging for ' hard ' cider, as old cider was called. 

" One day my grandmother found him lying in- 
toxicated under a tree in the yard, and she forbade 
the giving of Warmmesley any more cider from 
the cellar. A few days afterward, he landed from 
his canoe in front of the grounds, and came to the 
workmen for cider. The workmen sent him to 
my grandmother. 

" ' No, Warmmesley, no more,' said she firmly. 
' Steal your wits. Wicked ! ' 

" Warmmesley begged for one porringer — just 

" ' Me sick,' he pleaded. 

"' No, Warmmesley. Never. Wrong.' 

" ' Me pay you ! ' said he, with an evil look in his 
eye. ' Me pay you i ' 

" Just then a flock of crows flew past. Warm- 
mesley pointed to them and said : 

"'It's coming — fight — look up there! Cgh, 

i 7 6 



ugh!' — pointing to the crows. 'Fight English. 
Look over' — pointing to the bay — ' fight, fight — 
me pay you ! Ugh ! Ugh ! ' 

" My grandmother pointed up to the blue sky, 
as much as to say that her trust was in a higher 
power than man's. 

" Warmmesley turned away reluctantly, looking 
back with a half-threatening, half-questioning 
look, and saying ' Ugh ! Ugh ! ' He evidently 
hoped that my grandmother would call him back, 
but she was firm. 

" The upper windows of the old house over- 
looked the bay. 

" It was fall. The maples flamed and the oak- 
leaves turned to gold and dust. The flocks of 
birds gathered and went their unknown way. The 
evenings were long. It was harvest time. The 
full moon rose in the twilight, and the harvesters 
continued their labors into the night. 

" Philip, or Pometacom, was now at Mount 
Hope, and Wetamoo had taken up her residence 
on the high shores of Pocassett. The hills of 
Pocassett were in full view of Mount Hope, and 
between lay the quiet, sheltered waters of the bay. 
Philip had cherished a strong friendship for Weta- 
moo, who was the widow of his brother Alexander. 

" Night after night the harvesters had noticed 
canoes crossing and recrossing the bay, moving 
like shadows silently to and fro. The moon 
waned ; the nights became dark and cloudy ; the 
movement across the water went on ; the boats 
carried torches now, and the dark bay became 
picturesque as the mysterious lines of light were 
drawn across it. 

" From time to time a great fire would blaze 
up near the high rocks at Mount Hope, burn a 
few hours, and then fade. 

" It was whispered about among the English 
that Philip was holding war-dances, and that Wet- 
amoo and her warriors were attending them. Yet 
Philip had just concluded a treaty of peace with 
the English, and Wetamoo professed to be a friend 
to the Colony. 

" War came on the following summer, stealthily 
at first. Englishmen were found murdered mys- 
teriously in the towns near Mount Hope. Then 
came the killing of the people in Swanzey as they 
were going home from church, about which all the 
histories of the Colonies tell ; then the open war. 

" Philip flashed like a meteor from place to 
place, murdering the people and burning their 
houses. No one could tell where he would next 
appear, or who would be his next victim. Every 
colonist during the year 1675, wherever he might 
be, lived in terror of lurking foes. There were 
dreadful cruelties everywhere, and towns and farm- 
houses vanished in smoke. 

" Wetamoo joined Philip. She had some six 
hundred warriors. Philip had made her believe 
that the English had poisoned her husband Alex- 
ander, who was also his brother, and who had 
succeeded the good Massasoit. Alexander had 
died suddenly while returning from Plymouth, on 
the Taunton river. The mysterious lights on the 
bay were now explained. 

" Before Wetamoo joined Philip, one of her 
captains had sent word to my grandmother that, 
as she had been a friend to the Indians, she 
should be protected. 

" ' I have only one fear,' said my grandmother 
often, during that year of terror, — 'Warmmesley.' 

" Warmmesley-Squammaney had gone away 
with Philip's braves under Wetamoo. He was 
one of Wetamoo's captains. Wetamoo herself 
had joined Philip like a true warrior queen. 

" The sultry August of 1676 brought a sense of 
relief to the Colonies. The warriors of Philip 
were defeated on every hand. His wife and son 
were captured, and, broken-hearted, he returned 
to Mount Hope — the burial-ground of his race 
for unknown generations — to die. Wetamoo, 
too, became a fugitive, and was drowned in at- 
tempting to cross to the lovely hills of Pocassett 
on a raft. 

" The war ended. Where was Warmmesley- 
Squammaney ? No one knew. Annawon, Philip's 
great captain, had been captured, and nearly all the 
principal leaders of the war were executed ; but old 
Squammaney had mysteriously disappeared. 

" Peace came. October flamed, as Octobers 
flame, and November faded, as Novembers fade, 
and the snows of December fell. The Colonies 
were full of joy and thanksgivings. 

" ' I am thankful for one thing more than all 
others,' said my grandmother on Thanksgiving 
Day ; ' and that is that I am now sure that old 
Squammaney is gone where he will never trouble 
us again. I shall never forget his evil eye as he 
said, " I will pay you ! " It has troubled me night 
and day.' 

"That fall, when my grandmother was dipping 
candles, she chanced to recall the old custom of 
the English town from which she had come, 
of making a powder-candle for Christmas. The 
spirit of merry-making was abroad upon the return 
of peace, and she prepared one of these curious 
candles, and told her family that they might invite 
the neighbors' children on Christmas Eve to see 
it burn and explode. The village school-master, 
Silas Sloan, was living at the old house, and he 
took the liberty to invite the school, which con- 
sisted of some ten boys and girls. 

" Christmas Eve came, a clear, still night, with 
a white earth and shining sky. Some twenty or 



more people, young and old, gathered in the 
great kitchen to see the Christmas candle ' go off.' 
During the early part of the evening 'Si' Sloan 
entertained the company with riddles. Then my 
grandmother brought in the Christmas candle, an 
odd-looking object, and set it down on its three 
legs. She lighted it, blew out the other candles, 
and asked Silas to tell a story. 

" Silas was glad of the opportunity to entertain 
such an audience. The story that he selected for 
this novel occasion was awful in the extreme, such 
as were usually told in those times before the 
great kitchen fires. 

" Silas — ' Si, ' as he was called — was relating an 
accountof aso-called haunted house, where, accord- 
ing to his silly narrative, the ghost of an Indian 

Si's narrative that they hardly dared to breathe, 
clung to one another with trembling hands as the 
dog sent up his piercing cry. Even Si himself 
started. The dog seemed listening. 

'' The candle was burning well. The children 
now watched it in dead silence. 

"A half-hour passed. The candle was burning 
within an inch of the quill, and all eyes were bent 
upon it. If the candle ' sputtered, ' the excitement 
became intense. ' I think it will go off in ten 
minutes now,' said my grandmother. 

" There was a noise in the yard. All heard it 
distinctly. The dog dashed round the room, 
howled, and stopped to listen at the door. 

•' People who relate so-called ghost stories are 
often cowardly, and it is usually a cowardly nature 

used to appear at the foot of an old woman's bed ; 
and some superstitious people declared that the 
old lady one night, on awaking and finding the 
ghostly Indian present, put out her foot to push 
him away, and pushed her foot directly through 
him. What a brave old lady she must have been, 
and how uncomfortable it must have been for the 
ghost ! — But, at this point of Silas's foolish story, 
the dog suddenly started up and began to howl. 
" The children, who were so highly excited over 

Vol. XIII.— 12. 


that seeks to frighten children. ' Si ' Sloan was 
no exception to the rule. 

" The excitement of the dog at once affected Silas. 
His tall, thin form moved about the room cautiously 
and mysteriously. He had a way of spreading 
apart his fingers when he was frightened, and his 
fingers were well apart now. 

" A noise in the yard at night was not an un- 
common thing, but the peculiar cry of the dog 
and the excited state of the company caused this 

1 7 8 



to be noticed. My grandmother arose at last, and, 
amid dead silence, opened the shutter. 

" 'I think that there is some one in the cider 
mill,' said she. 

" She looked toward the candle, and, feeling 
confident that some minutes would elapse before 
the explosion, she left the room, and went upstairs, 
and there looked from the window. 

From the window she could see in the moon- 
light, Mount Hope, where Philip had so recently 
been killed, and also the arm of the bay, where 
Wetamoo had perished. She could see the bay 
itself, and must have remembered the lights that 
a year before had so often danced over it at night. 
She lingered there a moment. Then she called : 

'• ' Silas — Silas Sloan ! ' 

'• Silas hurried up the stairs. 

" They both came down in a few minutes. 
Silas's face was as white as the snow. 

" ' What is it ? ' the children whispered. 

"There was another painful silence. Grand- 
mother seemed to have forgotten the candle. All 
eyes were turned to her face. 

" Then followed a sound that sent the blood 
from every face. It was as if a log had been 
dashed against the door. The door flew open, 
and in stalked two Indians. One of them was 

" ' Ugh! ' said Warmmesley. 

" ' What do you want ? ' demanded my grand- 

" ' Me pay you now! — Old Squammaney pay 
you. Cider ! ' 

" He sat down by the fire, close to the candle. 
The other Indian stood by his chair, as though 
awaiting his orders. The young children began 
to cry, and Silas shook like a man with the 

" ' Me pay you ! — Me remember! Ugh ! ' said 
Squammaney. ' Braves all gone. Me have re- 
venge — old Squammaney die hard. Ugh! Ugh!' 

" The door was still partly open, and the wind 
blew into the room. It caused the candle to flare 
up and to burn rapidly. 

" Squammaney warmed his hands. Occasionally 
he would turn his head, slowly, with an evil look 
in his black eye, as it swept the company. 

" The candle was forgotten. The only thought 
of each one was what Squammaney intended to do. 

"All the tragedies of the war just ended were 
recalled by the older members of the company. 
Were there other Indians outside ? 

" No one dared rise to close the door, or to at- 
tempt to escape. 

" Suddenly Squammaney turned to my grand- 

" ' White squaw get cider. Go — go ! ' 

•• The Indians threw open their blankets. They 
were armed. 

" The sight of these armed warriors caused Silas 
to shake in a strange manner, and his fear and 
agitation became so contagious that the children 
began to tremble and sob. When the sound of 
distress became violent, Squammaney would sweep 
the company with his dark eyes, and awe it into 
a brief silence. 

" My grandmother alone was calm. 

"She rose, and walked around the room, fol- 
lowed by the eyes of the two Indians. 

" As soon as the attention of the Indians, 
attracted for a moment by the falling of a burnt 
stick on the hearth, was diverted from her, she 
whispered to Silas : 

" ' Go call the men.' 

" The attitude of Silas on receiving this direc- 
tion, as she recalled it afterward, was comical 
indeed. His hands were spread out by his side, 
and his eyes grew white and wild. He attempted 
to reply in a whisper, but he could only say : 

" ' Ba-b-b-ba ! ' 

" Squammaney's eyes again swept the room. 
Then he bent forward to push back some coals 
that had rolled out upon the floor. 

" ' Go call the men,' again whispered my grand- 
mother to Silas ; this time sharply. 

" ' Ba — b — b — b — ba ! ' His mouth looked 
like a sheep's. His hands again opened, and his 
eyes fairly protruded. His form was tall and thin, 
and he really looked like one of the imaginary 
specters about whom he delighted to tell stories 
on less perilous occasions. 

" Squammaney heard Grandmother's whisper. 
and became suspicious. He rose, his dark form 
towering in the light of the fire. He put his hand 
on the table where burned the candle. He 
turned, and faced my grandmother with an ex- 
pression of hate and scorn. 

" What he intended to do was never known, for 
just at that moment there was a fearful explosion. 
It was the powder-candle. 

" A stream of fire shot up to the ceiling. Then 
the room was filled with the smoke of gunpowder. 
The candle went out. The room was dark. 

" ' White man come ! Run ! ' my grandmother 
heard one of the Indians say. There was a sound 
of scuffling feet ; then the door closed with a bang. 
As the smoke lifted, the light of the fire gradually 
revealed that the Indians had gone. They evi- 
dently thought that they had been discovered, 
pursued, and that the house was surrounded by 

"At last my grandmother took a candle from 
the shelf and lighted it. Silas, too, was gone. 
Whither? Had the Indians carried him away? 




"Late in the evening the neighbors began to 
come for their children, and were told what had 
happened. The men of the town were soon under 
arms. But old Warmmesley-Squammaney was 
never seen in that neighborhood again, nor was 
his fate ever known to the town's-people. That 
was the last fright of the Indian war. 

''Silas returned to the school-room the next 

day, but he never visited the old house again. 
Whatever may have been his real belief in regard 
to people of the air, he had resolved never again 
to put himself under a roof where he would be 
likely to meet Warmmesley-Squammaney. 

" After this strange event, two generations of 
grandmothers continued to burn, on each Christ- 
mas Eve, the old powder-candle." 


Bv Susan Coolidge. 

All the long spring-time it grew and it grew 
'Mid the clovers green on the cool hill-crest. 

And it smiled at the sun; and it never knew 
That it was different from the rest, 

Shall her purse receive it? Thieves may steal! 

Or her locket ? The slender string may break ! 
And the sweet girl-heart is quick to feel 

That "luck" is naught for her own sole sake. 

Until, one night when the moon had power, She looks at her sister's wedding-ring; 

And the rest of the clovers were sleeping fast, Shall she twist it over the circlet fine, 

The fairies came at the fairy hour To be of some good and beautiful thing 

And spied the leaves as they flitted past. To the happy young wife a pledge and sign ? 

Swiftly they wove a mystical ring, 

And danced and chanted a wonderful spell. 

And the four-leaved clover, listening, 

Learned the secret of power, and learned it 

And, proudly silent, it raised its head 

And stood 'mid its three-leaved brotherhood. 

And waited for some one, fairy-led, 

To find the charm and to prove it good. 

It waited bravely and waited long, 
Till, all on a golden autumn day, 

Sweet Effie, singing a careless song, 

Through the hill-side meadow took her way. 

Or, over the door, as a guarding charm, 
Shall she fasten it high, that the fairy kin 

May hover and watch and keep from harm 
All going out and all coming in ? 

And then, her mind made up, she goes 
Across the room where the baby lies, 

As fragrant-fair as a new-born rose, 
With a world of wonder in his eyes. 

She slips the clover into his shoe, 

The dear little shoe so soft and small, 

And tightly ties the ribbon blue 

Round the pink-white ankle, — that is all! 

Her eyes, like stars in the evening blue, 
Were quick as the fire-flies' flashing light ; 

And she spied the clover where it grew, 
And plucked it quickly and held it tight. 

Where shall dear Effie her treasure put. 
That the charmed spell be not undone ? 

Shall it be in the leaves of her Bible shut 
To wither and dry as time goes on ? 

And the clover smiled in its hidden nest, 
And it bent itself to its destined task, 

To work the spell of the charmed behest ; 
What better fate could a clover ask? 

The baby laughed, and the baby crowed ; 

And Effie she smiled ; and neither knew 
The fortunate gift that the leaves bestowed, 

Nor all that the fairies meant to do. 

i So 




By Ella Sterling Cummins. 

" Let us have a 
game," said Wong 
Hay to her play- 
mates. " Go, Loy 
Yow, and hide your 

So Loy Yow, a 
bright, red-cheek- 
ed little Chinese 
girl, " blinded " her 
eyes, and therest of 
the players fell into 
line with their 
hands held open in 
cup-shape behind 
them, while Wong 
Hay circled around 
the line lightly touch- 
ing the open hands as 
she passed, andcroon- 
ing in a peculiar Chi- 
nese sing-song tone 
the following little 
game-song, much as 
American children 
sing. "Tread, tread 
the green grass," or 
" Green gravel, green 
gravel, how green the 
grass grows" : 

" Come, maidens all, and stand in line 
Put back your flower-like hands to 

mine. .-'. ■ ■ ■'- 

The pledge now flies, it flies away 
To the Eastern land — the land of day. ■'■:{.; 

'Tis the lantern feast! Ninth moon commands I 
Now, maidens, lift your flower-like hands." 

To Loy Yow, whom they now called 
" Hide-Your-Eyes," Wong Hay now san 

"Come, thunder-shower, with all your power. 
And open this four-fingered flower ! " 





Meantime, as she sang, she had dropped into one of the hands the little pledge — a thimble or 
some little keepsake selected for the occasion, much as American children use a button in a similar 
game. At the words, "Maidens, lift your golden-flower hands," as it is literally translated, all the 
hands were raised high above their heads, but closely shut, so that none could tell who held the 
little pledge. 

At the words addressed to " Hide-Your-Eyes," Loy Yow came out from the shed, and, using a long stick 
as if it were a wand, pointed to the one whom she suspected of having the little pledge. 

She was not successful, however, for the hands opened and nothing was found there. So she had to 
try it all over; while Wong Hay walked about again, and sang the little oriental melody. 

The second time, she looked very closely into the faces of her Chinese playfellows, and she saw so 
funny a look on Qui Fah's that she immediately pointed her out. Qui Fah's hands were opened 

iSS6. 1 



amid much laughter and merriment, and there was 
the sought-for keepsake ! Then they changed 
places, and Qui Fah became " Hide- Your-Eyes. " 
Here is the song as it looks written in Chinese ; 
except that in this instance the Chinese characters 
are arranged like English words, so as to read from 
left to right, instead of in the Chinese fashion, in 
which they are placed so as to be read downward, 
beginning at the right upper corner. 



( To Hide- 1 'our- Eyes. ) 



?5 #t= 


It was a curious picture to see these little Orien- 
tals, dressed in their blue blouses and dark, wide- 
flapping pantaloons, with their long black hair fall- 
ing in a heavy braid carefully pasted back from 
the face with a sort of shiny gum-arabic polish, all 
playing, with as much freedom and merriment 
as any circle of American children, their odd 
Chinese version of " Button, button, who has the 
button ? " 

This game is a popular one among all Chinese 
children, but the rhyme changes according to the 
different dialects. Here is a translation of the one 
presented in the Chinese text taken down exactly 
as sung by a little Chinese girl in San Francisco : 


Come, maidens alt, and stand in line, 

'Tis the Ian -tern feast! Ninth moon commands! 



v F "■ 

Put back your flower 
Now, maidens, lift 

like hands to mine ; 
your flower-like hands; 


The pledge now flies. 
Come, thun-der> shower, 


it flies a - way 
with all your power, 

To the East - ern land — the land of day. 
And o - pen this four - fing-ered flower ! 

" Ninth month ! ninth day ! " indicates a special 
fete day in October. A certain flower in China to 
which the four- fingered hand is compared, contains 
long, floatingstamens, which hang down something 
like the four fingers. No one but an Oriental would 
ever have thought of comparing a hand to a flower. 

Among the different dialects is one version of 
this little song — a fragment — which is rhythmic- 
al and easy to catch, and when rendered into Eng- 
lish spelling is something like this: 


^ I 

Pi Ian doo, 

pi Ian long, Len doo 

— i _ 


ni fong, Hueykue gong, kue gong 

Yon me chay, 


In their own language, Chinese words have 
peculiar accents, and it is these accents that make 
them sound particularly heathenish to our ears, and 
render the Chinese so difficult a language to learn. 

But the music of the little croon-song, " Pi Lan 
Doo," slightly imitates the peculiar Chinese mode 
of accenting; and I could imagine it when given 
with an accompaniment of cymbals, together with 
an eccentric, shrill tin whistle and a drumming on 
a heavy board, as conveying a very fair idea of a 
Chinese orchestra. 

As a song, it can be very easily attempted by 
any child — there is something catchy and provok- 
ing in its meaningless repetition that clings to the 
mind, as if it contained some very queer idea in- 
deed, and belonged to some very queer race. 





By 11. H. (Helen Jackson. 


Once on a time two travelers, in search of a 
home, arrived in a country where they had never 
been before. It was entirely unlike any land they 
had ever seen, though a very beautiful country. 
The sun shone bright, birds sang, flowers bloomed 
everywhere, there were great groves of tall green 
trees, and high mountains, and wide rivers. Smooth 
roads led off in all directions. 

"Ha!" said the travelers, "this is an easy 
country to go about in; with these good roads, it 
must be very plain traveling." 

The bystanders smiled when they heard the 
travelers say this. 

"Shall we tell them the truth?" they asked 
among themselves. 

"No," answered a white-headed man. "It 
would not be of the least use. They would not 
believe us." 

There was one thing in this country which struck 
the travelers as very strange. Every one looked 
old — very old indeed. The new-comers were not 
so impolite as to say so, but in their hearts they 
thought : 

" Dear ! what an antiquated set they are ! They 
look as if they had lived here forever." 

"Will you not take guides with you?" asked 
one of the old men. " If you really think of 
settling in this land, they could show you the best 
places. Great treasures exist in our country for 
people who know how to find them ; but great 
dangers also, which a stranger might not suppose." 

"Oh, no; thank you," answered the travelers, 
politely. " We shall just follow the roads, and go 
wherever they lead us. We wish to see the whole 
country ; and one way will be as good as another." 

Just then there stepped up the oddest little 
couple, a man and a woman. They were so small, 
they looked almost like dwarfs. The man wore 
a shining silver helmet, so bright that it seemed 
to light up the whole place, even in broad daylight. 
And his keen eyes were as bright as his helmet. 
The woman was very slender and graceful, and 
was dressed all in green. On her head was a 
twisted turban of green gauze, partly hiding her 
short fair curls. Her rosy little ears were set in 
this golden hair, like pink pearls, and her face was 
lovely, with its sweet smile and thoughtful look. 
She seemed to be listening all the time. And 

so she was, for this was Lady Quick Ear, who 
could hear the smallest sounds, at a greater dis- 
tance than any one else in that country. She had 
been noted for this all her life. The little man in 
the shining helmet was her husband, Captain 
Bright Eyes. When the two were married, every 
one said : 

"Now, there can not remain anything in the 
world worth knowing that these two will not find 
out ! " 

And so it proved. There was hardly a day that 
one or the other of them did not make some new 
and wonderful discovery. They were always to- 
gether, and they were always busy, searching, 
searching, listening, listening. To and fro they 
journeyed, the brightest, happiest couple in all the 
land. The real occupation and business of these 
serviceable little folk was to go about as guides 
and companions, and they were always watching 
for strangers who should be eager to see the won- 
derful beauties and treasures they had discovered. 
They were often saddened by seeing how few peo- 
ple really cared for these beauties and treasures. 
For most travelers hurried through the country, 
and away again, hardly looking at anything. But 
sometimes visitors would come who wanted to see 
everything that the little guides could show ; and 
these visitors always w-ent away rich with treasures, 
and bearing a lasting affection for Captain Bright 
Eyes and his wife. 

When the white-haired man who, as I said, was 
advising the new-comers, saw Captain Bright Eyes 
and Lady Quick Ear coming up, he continued : 

" Here are the two best guides in all our coun- 
try. There is not an inch of it they do not know. 
I wish you would be persuaded to engage them. 
I assure you their help is invaluable." 

Captain Bright Eyes looked steadily at the 
strangers, but did not speak. Lady Quick Ear, 
also silent, stood with downcast eyes. They never 
were known to press their services on any one. 

The two travelers whispered together. They had 
very odd names, these travelers. One was called 
" Search Out," and the other, " Never Mind." 

" What a fuss about nothing ! " said Never Mind. 
" I believe they want to make money out of us ; 
that 's all." 

"I'm not sure," replied Search Out; "they 
may be right. I think we 'd better take them 

" Do as you please," answered Never Mind. 



" Throw your money away, if you like. I shall go 
by myself, and we '11 see who fares best." 

" All right," said Search Out, much hurt at his 
friend's readiness to part company with him. 
" All right ; I shall take the guides. Good-bye ! " 

So Search Out set off with Captain Bright Eyes 
and Lady Quick Ear, and Never Mind set off 
alone on another road, and that was the last they 
saw of each other for many a year. How many, I 
can not say, because in fairy lands and fairy stories 
time is not kept as clocks keep it, nor reckoned as 
almanacs reckon it. You see, they had started 
out on roads so different and with plans so differ- 
ent, that there was not one chance in a million of 
their coming together anywhere, and the odd thing 
was that they really did meet at the same place 
where they had parted. And there was a crowd 
of bystanders, as at their first coming. Not the 
same ones ; most of the old, white-haired people 
were gone ; but other patriarchs had taken their 
places. In this country the inhabitants were all 
the time changing, the old disappearing, the 
young turning old, and new ones becoming known. 
It happened, that on this day, when the half- for- 
gotten travelers returned, two strangers had just 
arrived (as Search Out and Never Mind themselves 
had arrived, a lifetime or so before), seeking a 
home, and anxious to explore the new country. It 
seemed to these strangers that every one was 
watching for something to happen. 

"What are you all waiting here for?" they 

"There is to be a grand ceremony, presently," 
was the answer. " We are to welcome the distin- 
guished traveler, Search Out, who has been ex- 
ploring our country for a long time, and who is 
coming back laden with treasures of all sorts. 
Discoveries so grand as his have never before been 
made. We shall welcome, also, the two guides who 
have accompanied him everywhere. They - " 

At that moment, a burst of music was heard, 
and the head of the procession came in sight. 
There sat Search Out in a beautiful chariot drawn 
by four milk-white horses. With him were Cap- 
tain Bright Eyes and Lady Quick Ear. Captain 
Bright Eyes' silver helmet flashed in the sunlight, 
and Lady Quick Ear's green gauze turban looked 
as bright as young birch-leaves in spring. Behind 

them came a long train of wagons, laden with 
the treasures they had brought. 

When the procession stopped, Search Out stood 
up in the chariot and made a speech to the people. 
He told where they had been ; how they had dis- 
covered mountains of gold and silver and precious 
stones ; valleys where all sorts of grain grew 
higher than men's heads ; plains with natural oil- 
wells to supply fuel and light ; seas full of soft, 
furry creatures ; and forests of rare woods. 
"Plenty for everybody and to spare," he said. 
" There can not be another country so rich as 
this in all the universe." 

As he finished speaking, Captain Bright Eyes 
pointed out to him a miserable, ragged fellow in 
the crowd. 

"There," he said, " is the friend who came to 
this country with you. He seems not to have 

Search Out looked. It was, indeed, his old com- 
rade, Never Mind, so aged, so altered by suffering 
and poverty as hardly to be recognized. 

The next day, when the two new travelers, who 
had seen this spectacle and had heard reports of 
Search Out's discoveries, were about to set off on 
their own journey, there came up to them an old 
white-haired man, and said, as the other old man 
had said a lifetime or so before to Search Out and 
Never Mind : 

" Will you not take guides with you? If you 
really mean to settle here, they could show you the 
best places. We have great treasures, as you 
have seen, but dangers exist also, which a stranger 
might not suspect. Captain Bright Eyes and 
Lady Quick Ear are here still. If you take them 
along, you will not regret it." 

While these words were being spoken, Captain 
Bright Eyes and Lady Quick Ear stood by, silent, 

They looked not a day older than when they had 
gone with Search Out. 

" Oh, nonsense ! " said one of the strangers. 
" We don't want any guides. We can follow the 
beaten path." 

"To be sure," said the other. " In a country 
with such roads as these, who wants guides? " 

So they set off alone, and were never heard of 

1 84 



By Rose Hawthorne Lathrop. 

It was a cold, gray Saturday afternoon. There 
were clouds of snow in the sky, and plenty 
of snow already fallen on the earth, while the 
woods seemed frozen as stiff as ship-masts. Ollie 
Phipp was at home with something the matter ; 
the girls of the neighborhood were doing crochet- 
ing, so cheerless was it out of doors ; and Nick 
Woolson, who, if given freedom, never staid in the 
house except to eat and sleep, was out, you may 
be sure, and wondering what sort of fun could turn 
up with so little to do, and so few to help him 
do it. 

He could go to the barn, of course, and look at 
the cows out of the corners of his eyes, and grin 
a little because they were having a rather more 
stupid time than he was ; or he could go to the 
cellar and get an ice-cold apple to chew, which 
was n't a bit warmer on the red side than on the 
yellow ; and he could get some hazel-nuts from the 
darksome attic, and easily spend two hours in ex- 
tracting the meat from a handful of them. 

He had taken his sled out with him, however; and 
a savage, hard, heavy little sled it was. Just now 
its sharp runners poked at his rubber boots threaten- 
ingly, as much as to say that, if he abandoned it 
for any other sport, there might be a future tumble 
on snow or ice to punish him. So Nick gave his 
sled a jerk by the cord in response, leaving no doubt 
that he was master of that impertinent plaything, 
although he considered and met its demands ; and 
off he sauntered up the highway. 

It would have been impossible for Nick not to 
come upon something to do, after starting off into 
the world outside his father's gate in this trusting 
manner. It was delightful to have no notion what 
his occupation was to be, and yet to be sure that 
it was coming on from before or behind, or from one 
side or the other. It was not likely to come from 
his own brain, for he had no definite plan nor fancy 
as to how it would be jolly to pass the time from 

now until supper. Of course, there was his sled. 
Perhaps it would be well to bring his sled into con- 
junction with a hill. The image of a very steep 
and — from the top ! — an inviting hill came to Nick's 
inner vision, and he began to wonder whether it was 
well covered with snow, and whether the snow there 
had frozen as stiff as everywhere else. It would be 
very lonely, if he went to that hill to coast all by 
himself. No one ever went there, except in summer 
to cut hay — if they could, in spite of the seven- 
league-booted grasshoppers. The gate and wood- 
path leading toward the hill of which Nick was 
thinking suddenly presented themselves at the side 
of the road, and Nick marched directly toward them 
with a dogged thud of his rubber ankles, as they 
struck together in a fashion denoting dauntless re- 
solve. A delicious cold chill passed over his heart as 
he realized that the real Nick Woolson was carrying 
off the timid Nick Woolson, with the intention of 
making him play in as lonely a spot as the country 
could boast. The hill shone like silver and gold 
in the afternoon sun, and shadowed away toward 
the valley and the neighboring woods with great 
blue spaces that looked like lakes of magic water. 
After he had advanced some distance, Nick turned in 
a circle, and in every direction he beheld a pict- 
ure of stillness. He pulled off one of his mittens 
and felt in an inner pocket of his coat for his par- 
ticular treasure, for which he had bartered a poc- 
ket-knife, with one blade missing. It was a small 
china Buddha, about an inch and a quarter high, 
and as ugly as Buddha knows how to be. He 
touched the little idol's smooth surface, and his too 
great loneliness was banished. 

It seemed all a dream while Nick was floating 
down the icy hill-side on his sled so fast that the 
trees left behind him in the distance were like vague 
memories of trees dancing a horn-pipe to keep 
their toes warm. But it did not seem as if he had 
ever dreamed in his life when it came to climbing 


I8 5 

the hill again, after his dizzy rush ; for he had to 
break a hole into the hard snow every time he 
planted his foot, and then had to wrench his heavy 
sled with force after him, or coast to the foot of the 
hill on his back, whichever he preferred. Nick 
thought of going home, when he had nearly 
reached the top. But as soon as he found him- 
self safe and sound on the summit, he sat right 
down on his sled and skimmed away to the blue 
valley sea. As he flew down-hill a second time, he 
thought to himself that he was contented with being 
a boy. He sat still in the valley for a moment, appar- 

nerves must have been superbly steady to allow of 
his indifference. But who ever arrived at the real 
feelings of a fox? As Nick looked up at the top 
of the hill from which he had descended, reluct- 
antly viewing the steep distance he would be 
obliged to climb if he wanted another swallow's 
Might, he descried a being standing there, very 
much like a sturdy young man with a small bag in 
his hand. He shouted down to Nick: 

" Fine coast ! " 

Nick grinned, and forgot to answer. 

" Give us your sled a minute ! " called the young 




ently knowing that a fox was about to steal with a 
springing tread across an open space, turning his 
fat cheeks full upon Nick, and wearing an expres- 
sion of countenance which seemed to say that, 
of the two, Nick was immeasurably the less safe. 
Considering that Nick looked very queer, with a 
gayly striped scarf wound about his ears, the fox's 

man again, using his disengaged hand as a speak- 

Nick thought there was something wanting to 
this proposal, and refrained from answering until 
he had reconciled himself to its absence. The hill 
was certainly high. 

• ' I '11— tell — you what — we'll do, — if —you '11 — 

1 86 



come up here ! " the distant figure hallooed, not 
abashed by the youngster's still sitting quietly 
astride of his sled. But Nick did not move, after 
all, and the young man sat down on the snow to wait 
until the boy thought fit to respond. The inaction 
which ensued was distasteful to Nick, and he began 
the difficult ascent, and arrived, puffing for breath. 
The young man let him rest for a moment, during 
which the two eyed each other, and then he asked : 

" What on earth made you come to this solitary 

Nick wound his sled-rope around and around 
his finger, and replied : 

" What made yon come ? " 

"Why, 1 'm going over to the pond, for a 

Nick looked longingly at the coarse linen bag. 

" Do they ever skate on the pond! " he asked, 
as if he knew they never did. 

" Once in five years, if they 're willing to have 
a delightful time," said the young man. "It is 
frozen over this year, I hear, and I mean to try it. 
But give me your sled, first; I wish to recall old 

"Not that way ! " cried Nick, as the young man 
laid himself flat on the sled, which disappeared 
under his tall figure. " This iced snow will carry 
you like fury, and you '11 be smashed to nothing ! " 

The young man looked up with one sparkling eye. 

" It 's worth anything" he answered, and was 
off. Nick reflected coldly, that in case the sled 
and its rider were lost to the world in a mingled 
mass of bones and splinters, at any rate he could 
go skating on the skates next day. But the 
young man had no sooner reached the base of the 
slope, having guided himself in a masterly way 
with his toes, than he picked himself up, and 
strode up the glistening surface. Nick had never 
seen so agile and delightful a giant. 

" Thanks, old fellow," said the young man, not 
caring to sit down to rest, but taking up his skate- 
bag with a sweep of the arm. " Follow me, and I '11 
carry you all over the pond on your sled, as I skate. 
It will be the finest half hour you ever spent." 

Nick was of the same opinion. 

" Oh, what fun ! " he exclaimed, trudging be- 
side his new friend (for from that instant he looked 
upon him as a friend). "Where did you come 
from ? " 

" Oh, I 'm a college man sojourning in the coun- 
try for a little while ! " And the young man smiled. 
" I 've been here before, and I know about the 
resources of this pond. You see, there 's going to 
be a sunset soon, now, and then the young moon; 
and it will be lovely out there, depend upon it. 
We '11 get home to supper by seven, I think." 

Nick's heart bounded. Here was a real under- 

taking ! He skipped along, heavy as his rubber 
boots were supposed to be. 

" They wont be anxious, will they ? " asked the 
young man kindly. 

" I suppose they may," Nick thoughtfully re- 
sponded, "but I think it will hardly do them 
much harm ; and I think it would make me ill to 
go home without having all this lark. A person 
must consider himself, now and then." 

" Right you are ! " assented the young man, as 
if he repeated the same motto to himself every 
hour of the day. So that point was settled. 

The fir-trees were laden with firm snow, and 
were very much like marble trees that had not been 
quite quarried out of the earth, for their lower 
branches and the bent tops of the bushes were still 
fastened beneath the white surface. The pedes- 
trians often burst the fetters of the snow-shackled 
branches as they passed, either by too near a step, 
or, apparently, by merely breaking the dead still- 
ness with their distant foot-falls. The very birds, 
overtaken at long intervals, seemed dumb as fancies; 
and once a hidden tread of some wild thing passing 
along in the obscurity of the underbrush and the 
clustered tree-trunks, sounded like the passing of 
a huge animal, which Nick's companion thought 
likely to be a lioness escaped from the menagerie 
which had lately been spilled on the railroad track. 
Several animals were said to have been lost. 
Nick thought he never should be more excited or 
wonderfully jubilant than he began to be now. To 
be sure, he stepped along with the persuasion that 
each moment might be his last in this world, and 
he glanced now and then at his companion's big 
figure with pleasure in the sense of its protective 
power. But he really enjoyed the great danger 
in which his companion allowed the lad to imagine 
himself. And when one is enjoying a danger, pray 
what is there to worry about ? Whereas, to enjoy 
a pleasure often means to dread its consequences. 

Suddenly the great pond, or lake, as some called 
it, lifted itself up before them, black as night in its 
white and black rim of snow and fir-trees. While 
the sun cast an orange light over one side of the 
sky, against which the woods reared their pinna- 
cles, Nick's new friend hurried on his skates, and 
slid off on the ice. He sailed about for a minute 
or two, and then came back to the pond's edge. 

" Ready ? " said he. 

Nick left land on his sled at once, the young 
man caught the rope, and away they all shot, — 
skates, sled, young man, and Nick in bliss. 

So wildly fast flew the collegian that, with a 
whizzing touch here and there of Nick's skillful 
heels, the sled never swerved to right or left. 
Every little while the young man would turn his 
head far enough to say : 


I8 7 

" Jolly fun, eh?" or, '"Glad you tried it?" or, 
"All right?" 

And Nick would shout back, rapturously : " Fun, 
and no mistake ! Go on ! " 

The ice had frozen suddenly, and in clear 
weather, so that hardly a dash of white broke 
the extraordinary blackness beneath them, which 
was splendidly terrifying. To float over what he 
knew was almost endless depth, as if it were water 
in a still but liquid state, made Nick's hair curl 
over, and his heart warm within him. Great 
gulping reports flew back and forth through the 
pond, as they scudded on, as though it were 
laughing, and would soon immerse them in a 
dangerous smile from its parted surface. Once 
the young collegian flew toward the center of the 
pond, wishing to cross by a central route; but 
somehow he switched aside just in time. Why? 
Oh, because the ice did not quite reach from shore 
to shore, so very deep were the waters. Nick 
guffawed with surprise, and a rejoicing that he still 
lived. Boom ! gulp ! went the cracking stretches 
about them ; whir ! went the sled ; click ! went the 
skates; boom! went the lake, again. The moon was 
suddenly lookingat them, slender and silvery in the 
immense, sparkling heaven. But Nick could never 
have enough of such pastime as this. As he sat on 
his sled, behind the never-tiring youth who faith- 
fully held the cord, he almost believed he had come 
to a land of magic, and would never cease flying. 
He reflected that if he put his hand into his pocket, 
now, to feel Buddha's smooth hooded crown, he 
would find the sage gone. He could not really be 
Nick YVoolson any more, nor his coat his. 

'• Tired?" called back the young man. 

Nick gasped with astonishment. 

"I? — not if I know myself! " Which was, as 
has been seen, by no means a certainty. But ex- 
pressions mattered less now than usual. 

And on they flew. And then they stopped. 
The young man dropped the sled-cord, and drew 
a deep breath. Nick laughed. It seemed to indi- 
cate just what they both felt so well that the col- 
legian grinned, in a benevolent way. 

" This is a perfect cove we 're in," he said. 
"You sit still, and I '11 show you some patterns." 
With these words he revolved and revolved, first 
in one style and then in another, with nervous 
turns ending in graceful sweeps. Nick's eyes were 
fastened upon him in a fascinated manner. 

All at once a terrible sensation pervaded Nick's 
being. He no longer had a moment's doubt as to 
his existing in a downright world, with Buddha 
occupying his pocket. He was hungry. And 
there were two miles and a half of snow to strug- 
gle over before he could get anything to eat. He 
never carried food in his pocket, for a reason easily 

guessed. He found that he could never resist 
gobbling it up. 

"Tired?" again asked the collegian, knowing 
with the penetration of youth that something had 
come over Nick. 

"Oh, no! But I wish we were at home, and 
had one of mother's apple-pies ! " 

"And a good glass of creamy milk, too, would 
suit me," said the collegian. 

" And you ought to try the doughnuts ! " Nick 
exclaimed, as if he were about to hand them across 
a table. 

"And some steaming tea in an old-fashioned 
tea-cup," added the stranger. 

" And Johnny-cake," said Nick. 

They might have known better ! Two more 
restless, desperate creatures than they were not to 
be found anywhere in the vicinity, after calmly 
calling up before them food that could not really 
be tasted. 

" I think we must be going home, at all 
events," concluded Nick's companion. 

Up jumped Nick immediately. 

" To my home," he said. " My mother always 
likes to have me bring my friends home ; and 
she gives them the best she has. I have school- 
mates whose mothers never let them invite any- 

They were well on their way by this time, and 
Nick's new friend cheerily replied : 

" I like you better now than I did to begin with, 
and you seemed a fine little chap then. Go home 
to supper with you ? I would n't miss it for the 
world ! " 

They chatted busily, hardly daring to stop a 
moment, lest the pangs of famine should make 
them speechless forever after. Nick's head swam 
around, until his nose seemed facing the pond, 
he was in such a faint hurry. His sled was 
very heavy and cross, and he wished it were good 
to eat. 

At last — it is marvelous how soon that distant 
time of " at last " comes about — Nick shouted : 

•' There 's Mother's ! " and he ran in at the gate. 

The stranger followed, bound simply upon hon- 
est amusement, and wisely setting aside annoying 
scruples. The result was that he and every one 
else were very jolly and sociable. 

Mrs. Woolson had been very much frightened, 
for Nick was particularly careful to be on time 
for meals, although he never could guess correctly 
about school-hours. His father had laughed the 
matter off at supper, and remarked that Nick was 
growing older, and would soon begin to do all sorts 
of surprising things. If it were summer-time now, 
he said, he should have supposed the boy had run 
away to sea, as he had tried to do himself. But none 

1 88 



of the females of the household were mystified by 
the good farmer's philosophical behavior, for they 
knew very well that Mr. Woolson's only son was his 
daily comfort and delight, and that he was a little 
anxious at Nick's absence. 

When Nick entered out of the bleak evening 
air, Mrs. Woolson probably had a vague sense of 
astonishment that a tall figure should be looming 
up behind him, as if her son had brought his 
future manhood along, having come across it on 
his winter ramble. But she would not have greatly 
minded if Nick had brought twenty men at his 
back, so long as he came himself, 
as round and rosy as ever, and 
merrier than she had seen him in 
all his life. 

•'Oh, Mother, I hope you kept 
supper for us. We 've had such a 
glorious time! 'Bnt/umgry ! — oh! " 

" Nick," whispered his sister 
Elspeth, "who is this ? " 

" Oh, I don't know his name. 
Mother, I don't know what his 
name is, but this is a new friend 
I 've met to day, and brought to 
tea ; I told him you were always 
jolly about my doing so." 

Mrs. Woolson was evidently 
suppressing several emotions, from 
laughter to ejaculations of dismay; 
and Elspeth was leaning up against 
the entry-wall, with eyes fixed upon 
the new-comer. 

"Glad to see you!" said Mr. 
Woolson, holding out his hand to 
the collegian as his deep voice re- 
verberated up the stairs and 
through all the bedrooms (for the 
house had always been too small 
for his height and breadth). 
"We've been a-waitin' for you 
quite a while, sir ! ' 

Everybody laughed right out, 
and the young man joined in as he shook hands, 
and then slapped his knee. 

" Thank you, sir ! " he answered. " That 's the 
best welcome I ever had, for I never deserved any 
so little. My name is Fairfax, and by profession I 

am a student, and we '11 tell you the rest when " 

but, by this time, Elspeth was bustling about and 
Mrs. Woolson was sitting at the tea-tray. Mr. Fair- 
fax was made to feel perfectly at home, and had 
his tea from an old-fashioned cup, — one of those 
which Mrs. Woolson valued as highly as she did 
the memories of her wedding year; for Nick 
had rattled out a great many pieces of information 
instead of breathing (so it seemed), and among 

the first of them had announced Mr. Fairfax's 
love of old porcelain. 

The two famished persons ate and ate ; and 
when they wanted a particularly unwarrantable 
relay of any good thing on the table, they would 
spin a wilder yarn than before about their exploits ; 
and then pass their plates ; and while Elspeth's 
gray eyes were stretched at their widest and her 
mouth was silently opened in admiring delight, she 
would heap up chicken and butter, or carve a 
huge ungeometrical portion of apple-pie. And Mrs. 
Woolson shook the tea-pot frantically for the fifth 


time ; while cousin Dabby Larkin tipped up the 
milk-pitcher at Nick's glass so often that, as she 
said afterward, she "wouldn't have been inside 
his jacket for twopence ! " 

What an evening it was ! How Mr. Fairfax was 
taken into the midst of the Woolson heart, for be- 
ing the dear, downright, roguish fellow that he 
was ! Nick felt as if he had returned from a long 
journey. He was never quite the same boy after- 
ward, although his life seemed just the same. 
But it is good to feel that one has changed. 
Inside there, where one's thoughts wake up, and 
sometimes will appear to be a little too much like 
rows and rows of twins. It was good for Nick 


to feel that he cared more for the great pond 
than he had cared yesterday for swapping strings 
for empty physic-bottles, which was then the 
most exciting thing he had experienced. Not 
that he could ever despise strings and bottles, 
but he realized that there was something higher 
and larger than either of those interesting inven- 

When Mr. Fairfax was ready to start back to 
the village, a fine snow was falling, which was the 
beginning of a long storm ; and Nick never had 
another chance of stepping upon the pond 
in winter. But, until he returned to college, Mr. 
Fairfax often walked to the farm for a chat with 
the Woolsons. In the whole course of his life 

Nick never forgot the pleasures which this young- 
man had brought in his wake. But if he felt that 
an enchanting outlook had been given, once for 
all, to his quiet existence through his glimpse of 
a wonder of nature in company with some one 
from a gayer sphere than his own, Mr. Fairfax, on 
his side, often remembered, when feeling lost in 
the wide world, that he had a true young friend un- 
der the apple-trees, whose honest eyes and dauntless 
figure had once captivated him in the most unex- 
pected way. Two people can not strike hands 
cordially, — without a shadow of disagreeable 
reserve, — and not gain from each other some- 
thing, and, perhaps, even the most treasured in- 
fluence of their lives. 


(A Scries of Brief Papers concerning the Great Musicians.) 

By Agatha Tunis. 

X. — Wagner. 

Wilhelm Richard Wagner was born at 
Leipzig, May 22, 1813. Great as critic, poet, 
and musician, the life of no composer offers a 
more fascinating history than does his, from the 
moment that his mission first shaped itself in his 
mind until the final triumph of his hopes. 

His parents were people in moderate circum- 
stances ; his father, a policeman, died when the 
child was a baby. His step-father, Ludwig Geyer, 
an actor and painter, wished to make a painter of 
little Richard, but the child showed no taste for 
that art. Geyer died when Richard was in his 
seventh year, and when his mother told him 
that his step-father had hoped he would be some- 
thing, he was much moved, and as he himself re- 
lates, " then I too thought I should be something." 
When he was nine, he went to school, where he 
was the despair of the teacher who instructed him 
in music ; he paid no attention to his practicing, 
but seized every opportunity of repeating the mel- 
odies that he had heard, especially those of " Der 
Freischiitz," which had already kindled his power- 
ful imagination. Ancient history, mythology, 
Greek and Latin were his favorite studies, but his 
heart was really in none of these, for he had a 
secret aim which absorbed all his thoughts and 
feelings — he was a poet ! In his eleventh year, he 
won a prize for the best poem on a dead school- 
mate, and soon after this he translated the first 
twelve books of the Odyssey. He taught himself 
English, and immediatelv became so absorbed 

in Shakespeare that he decided to write a tragedy. 
For two long years he toiled, and during this 
period he contrived to kill off forty-two people in 
his drama. He was forced to relent, however, and 
to recall them as ghosts in the last act in order to 
have performers enough to play the parts. Mean- 
time he had left Dresden, where he had been 
living, and entered a school at Leipzig, but he had 
so neglected his studies for musical composition, 
that he was put back a class ; this so discouraged 
him that he gave himself entirely to his tragedy. 
When he had nearly finished it, he first heard 
Beethoven's music. This had so strong an influ- 
ence over him that he determined to set his tragedy 
to music, and purchased a book on thorough-bass 
to prepare himself for his task. So fascinated did 
he become with the study, that he determined to 
be a poet no longer, but that music should have 
the devotion of his life. When his family learned 
of his tragedy, they were much troubled, for they 
felt it was the cause of his backwardness at school ; 
but when they found him to be writing music, they 
were in despair, for they believed it to be nothing 
more than a fancy, and that it might do the 
boy great harm. Fie was not to be discouraged, 
however, and composed in secret. But at last he 
was placed under the instruction of Theodore 
Weinlig, a man steeped in the spirit of " Father 
Bach," who put him through a six months' study 
of counterpoint. Now he learned and loved 
Mozart, but Beethoven's wonderful strains held his 
heart by day and night. 

In 1834, he accepted a position as conductor in the 




Magdeburg theater, where he only remained a year. 
Filled with the music of Beethoven's symphonies, 
most of what he heard seemed dull and trivial, and 
he determined to write an opera ; he worked with 
the greatest enthusiasm, and in 1839 he started for 
Paris to produce his " Rienzi." In company with 
his wife he embarked on a sailing vessel bound for 
London ; the voyage was long and tedious, doubly 
so to Wagner, whose heart was beating with love 
for his opera, and who could scarcely wait to hear 
it sung. While on the sea his thoughts ran largely 
on the legend of the "Flying Dutchman" — the 
man who is doomed to wander forever over the sea, 
an exile from home and all he holds most dear. 
The story fascinated Wagner, for he too felt far 
from home. Arriving at Paris, he found that it 
was impossible to have his opera produced, even 
though Meyerbeer interested himself in it. After 
many struggles and disappointments, he felt there 
was no hope for him in Paris, and his heart turned 
again to Germany. A deep longing for the father- 
land possessed him ; he determined to write a great 
work, which should be worthy to be sung there. As 
he sought for a subject on which to found his opera, 
he remembered the story of the "Flying Dutch- 
man." He took this for his theme, and into it he 
poured all the homesickness of his own soul. 
While composing it, he was obliged to support 
himself by writing popular operettas, but he was 
content to do this, for he was working with a high 
purpose. After finishing the work, he sent it to 
Leipzig and Munich, where it was rejected. Great 
as this blow was to him, he was somewhat en- 
couraged on hearing that his "Rienzi," through 
Meyerbeer's influence, had been accepted at Berlin. 
He now set out for Germany, and as he looked 
down into the Rhine the tears swam in his eyes, 
and "poor artist as I was," he says, "I swore to 
be true to the fatherland." His life shows how 
true he was to his vow. His one dream and ambi- 
tion was to build up German art. The German 
stage had long played only French and Italian 
operas, but he determined to give it a German 
opera, that the country which had produced a 
Bach, a Mozart, and a Beethoven should no longer 
turn to any other country for its opera. He reached 
Germany filled with this high resolve ; this alone 
he determined to live for — if need be, to die for. 

In 1842 '"Rienzi," and in 1843 " Tannhauser," 
were given at Dresden ; but, though they were re- 
ceived at first with great enthusiasm, the public 
neither appreciated nor understood them, and 
Wagner felt there was no hope for him even in the 
German theater. The aim of the stage was not 
high, — indeed, it had no aim; and Wagner, in 
disgust at its frivolity, wrote a series of articles 
against it, which drew upon him a bitter opposition, 

and gained him many enemies. In the revolution 
of 1848, he was obliged to flee from Berlin and seek a 
refuge in Paris. While there, Liszt — who was living 
at Weimar — secured the production there of Wag- 
ner's "Lohengrin," and Wagner now no longer 
felt the pang of exile, for his opera had found a 
home on German soil. And soon a greater hap- 
piness was to be his. On his return to Germany, 
King Ludwig had just ascended the throne of 
Bavaria ; and one of the first acts of the young 
prince was to hold out a helping hand to Wagner. 
He bade him write, and assured him of the royal 
protection and help, — a royal promise, and 
royally kept ; for, from that time, the prince and 
the musician were the closest friends. Wagner 
took up his residence at Munich, where he devoted 
himself to writing, and determined to build a 
theater of his own, for only in such a house could 
his operas be correctly interpreted. To under- 


stand why this was necessary, we must glance at 
some of Wagner's views on art. 

In the Italian and French operas, which, until 
Wagner's day, had been played throughout Ger- 
many, the whole stress is laid on the arias which the 
various artists are to sing. People go to such an 
opera to be amused, and, after hearing it, give no 
thought to the libretto nor to the composer, but 
talk only of the singers' voices; the opera itself is 
of little consequence ; the people are only con- 
cerned with the singers. The artists themselves 
look upon the operas simply as opportunities to 
show their voices to the best possible advantage. 


I 9 I 

Wagner believed that an opera should have a 
noble aim. So in everything he has given us, 
there is some divine struggle going on between the 
characters of right and wrong, in which the right 
triumphs. As the contest progresses, we ourselves 
are lost in the characters before us, our noblest 
feelings are aroused and strengthened. Wagner 
believed, furthermore, that the subject and words 
of an opera were not less important than the 
music ; and he has expended as much of his 
own spirit in writing the librettos of his operas 
as he has poured into his music. No note of the 
music is for show ; every one interprets some word 
or idea that is in the words; and every thought 
and act of the character is interpreted in the music, 
even if it be so insignificant a circumstance as 
jumping up a bank or running down a flight of 
steps. The performers, too, are expected to love 
their work, and to sink themselves in their parts ; 
they must cease to be themselves and be the char- 
acters they represent. So that in one of Wagner's 
operas, every one, down to the smallest person con- 
nected with it, is necessary to its production ; poet, 
musician, artists, orchestra, — all are great, for each 
can say, "but for me this could not be ! " In order 
to accomplish his ideas, Wagner decided to build 
in the heart of Germany a theater in which a 
yearly festival should be held, and where German 
opera should be sung by German artists, so that 
the people who came thither from all Germany 
should know at last that Germany, too, had 
its opera. He addressed a circular to all in 
sympathy with him, for help ; Wagner societies 
were formed throughout Germany and other 
countries for the purpose of contributing money to 
his project ; and, in 1872, the corner-stone was laid 
at Bayreuth, with an address by Wagner and a per- 
fect rendering of the Ninth Symphony. In 1876, 
the theater was finished, and at last the great com- 
poser had carried out all his aims. The theater is 
very plain ; there is no ornamentation within to 
distract the eye from the stage, and everything is 
sacrificed to the opera itself. 

Wagner now settled at Bayreuth in a beauti- 
ful house given him by the King of Bavaria. 
Within, one is constantly reminded of the com- 
poser's work ; a beautiful frieze in one of the halls 
is covered with pictures from his opera of the 
"Niebelungen " ; his dogs were called Frigga, 
Freya, and Wotan, after characters in his works, 
and a son was named Siegfreid, after one of his 
famous heroes. 

In 1SS2 Wagner's last opera was produced. In 
this opera of " Parsifal," his aims are carried to 
the highest point; the opera is religious in its tone, 
and those who listened to it felt as if they were 
listening to a religious service. So thoroughly was 
this Wagner's intention that he left explicit injunc- 
tions that nowhere outside of Bayreuth should the 
opera be produced. In the summer of 1882, he 
took a trip through Italy ; while at Venice he com- 
plained of feeling ill, and suddenly died of heart 
disease, February 13, 1883. 

Few in any art have had a loftier or nobler 
career than Richard Wagner. Had he not been 
a great musician he would undoubtedly have been 
a poet; but music took him to herself. With 
noble aims, he battled against all that was low 
and false in art. Though tried by poverty and 
persecution, he remained faithful to his highest 
convictions. He was one of the rare souls who 

" Thought it happier t«i be dead. 
To die for beauty than live for bread." 

In reading the lives of these masters "From Bach 
to Wagner," we find there are a few threads that 
bind them all together. Perhaps that which has 
impressed us most deeply is the sorrow that most 
of them were called on to suffer. And yet through 
all, how loyal they remained to their art, cherishing 
it like the very lamp of life when all else was dark 
about them ! To Beethoven it was friends, to 
Mozart it was food, to Schubert it was life. So 
far from feeling that genius gave them a right to 
shirk labor, they thought it laid them under bonds 
to dedicate their lives to it — from Bach, who has 
taught every musician who succeeded him, to 
Wagner, who felt that he had a message for the 
whole world. Nor can we who wish to interpret 
the music of such men succeed solely by drudging 
at the piano, great as that toil is, but we must 
throw our whole heart into the music. "Play as 
you feel," said Chopin ; but if one feels nothing, 
how can one really play ? So we must cultivate 
ourselves in every direction, educating ourselves 
in every department of study, and in music espe- 
cially by hearing the best music rendered by the 
best performers, by listening to the symphonies 
and solos at the Symphony and Philharmonic con- 
certs or rehearsals, the oratorios given by Oratorio 
Societies, and the operas as we may have the 
opportunity. It were worth all this and more, far 
more, to draw music from the piano. 





By Edith M. Thomas. 

In Holland, children set their shoes, 

This night, outside the door ; 
These wooden shoes Knecht Clobes * sees, 

And fills them from his store. 

But here we hang our stockings up 

On handy hook or nail ; 
And Santa Claus, when all is still, 

Will plump them, without fail. 

Speak out, you "Sobersides," speak out, 

And let us hear your views ; 
Between a stocking and a shoe, 

What do you see to choose? 

One instant pauses Sobersides, 

A little sigh to fetch — 
Well, seems to me a stocking's best, 

For wooden shoes wont stretch ! " 


[A Historical Biography.} 

By Horace £. Scudder. 

Chapter I. 


In 1732, when people spoke of Virginia, they 
meant commonly so much of the present State as 
lies between Chesapeake Bay and the Blue Ridge 
mountains. In the valley of the Shenandoah 
River, just beyond the first range of mountains, 
there were a few families, chiefly Irish and Ger- 
man, who had made their way southward from 
Pennsylvania ; the Governor of Virginia, too, was 
at this time engaged in planting a colony of 
Germans in the valley. Still farther to the 
westward were a few bold pioneers, who built their 
log-cabins in the wilderness and lived by hunting 
and fishing. No one knew how far Virginia 
stretched; the old charters from the King had 
talked vaguely about the South Sea, meaning by 
that the Pacific Ocean ; but the country beyond the 
mountains had never been surveyed and scarcely 
even explored. The people who called themselves 
Virginians looked upon those who lived beyond 
the Blue Ridge very much as nowadays persons 
on the Atlantic coast look upon those who settle 
in Dakota or Montana. 

Down from these mountains came the streams 
which swelled into rivers, — the Potomac, the Rap- 
pahannock, the York, and the James, with their 
countless branches and runs and creeks. Look at 
any map of eastern Virginia and see what a long 

"The Dutch 

coast line it has, what arms of the sea stretch in- 
land, what rivers come down to meet the sea, and 
what a network of water-ways spreads over the 
whole country. You would say that the people 
living there must be skillful fishermen and sailors, 
that thriving seaport towns would be scattered 
along the coast and rivers, and that there would 
be great shipyards for the building of all kinds 
of vessels. 

But in 1732 there were no large towns in Vir- 
ginia — there were scarcely any towns at all. Each 
county had a county-seat, where were a court- 
house and a prison, and an inn for the convenience 
of those who had business in court ; usually there 
was a church, and sometimes a small country 
store ; but there were no other houses, and often 
the place was in the middle of the woods. The 
capital of Virginia — Williamsburg — had less 
than two hundred houses ; and Norfolk, the 
largest town, at the head of a noble harbor, 
had a population of five thousand or so. A few 
fish were caught in the rivers or on the coast, but 
there was no business of fishing ; a few boats plied 
from place to place, but there was no ship-building, 
and the ships which sailed into the harbors and up 
the rivers were owned elsewhere, and came from 
England or the other American colonies. There 
were no manufactures and scarcely a trained me- 
chanic in the whole colony. Yet Virginia was the 
most populous and, some thought, the richest of 
the British colonies in America. In 1732 she had 

Santa Claus. 



half a million inhabitants, — more than twice as 
many as New York at that time. 

Where were the people, then, and what were they 
doing? They were living in the country, and raising 
tobacco. More than a hundred years before, the 
first Englishmen who had come to Virginia had 
found that they could raise nothing which was so 
much wanted in England, and could bring them 

pleasure was, and sometimes wished the weed had 
never been discovered. The King of England did 
not like it, and he wrote a book to dissuade people 
from the use of tobacco ; but every one went on 
smoking Virginia tobacco as before. 

The company which sent colonists to Virginia 
promised fifty acres to any one who would clear the 
land and settle upon it ; for a small sum of money 

so much money, as tobacco. Besides, these Eng- 
lishmen had not been mechanics or fishermen or 
sailors in England ; they had for the most part 
been used to living on farms. So they fell at once 
to planting tobacco, and they could not raise 
enough to satisfy people in England and other 
parts of the Old World. All the fine gentlemen 
took to smoking ; it was something new and 
fashionable; and, I suppose, a great many puffed 
away at their pipes who wondered what the 
VOL. XIII.— 13. 

one might buy a hundred acres; and if any one 
did some special service to the colony, he might 
receive a gift of as much as two thousand acres. 
Now, in England, to own land was to be thought 
much of. Only noblemen or country gentlemen 
could boast of having two thousand or a hundred 
or even fifty acres. So the Englishmen who came 
to Virginia, where land was plenty, were all eager 
to own great estates. 

To carry on such estates, and especially to raise 




tobacco, required many laborers. It was not 
easy for the Virginia land-owners to bring these 
from English farms. They could not be spared 
by the farmers there, and besides, such laborers 
were for the most part men and women who had 
never been beyond the villages where they had been 
born and had hardly even heard of America. They 
lived, father and son, on the same place, and knew 
little about any other. But in London and other 
cities of England there were, at the time when 
the Virginia colony was formed, many poor people 
who had no work and nothing to live on. If 
these people could be sent to America, not only 
would the cities be rid of them, but the gentlemen 
in the new country would have laborers to cut 
down trees, clear the fields, and plant tobacco. 

Accordingly, many of these idle and poor people 
were sent over as servants. The Virginia planters 
paid their passage, sheltered, fed, and clothed them, 
and in return had the use of their labor for a cer- 
tain number of years. The plan did not work very 
well, however. Often these "indentured servants," 
as they were called, were idle and unwilling to work 
— that was one reason that they had been poor 
in London. Even when they did work, they were 
only " bound" for a certain length of time. After 
they had served their time, they were free. Then 
they sometimes cleared farms for themselves ; but 
very often they led lazy, vicious lives, and were a 
trouble and vexation to the neighborhood. 

It seemed to these Virginia planters that there 
was a better way. In 1619, a year before the Pil- 
grims landed at Plymouth, a Dutch captain brought 
up the James River twenty blacks whom he had 
captured on the coast of Africa. He offered to 
sell these to the planters, and they bought them. 
No one saw anything out of the way in this. It 
was no new thing to own slaves. There were slaves 
in the West India Islands, and in the countries of 
Europe. Indians when captured in war were sold 
into slavery. For that matter, white men had been 
made slaves. The difference between these blacks 
and the indentured servants was that the planter 
who paid the Dutch captain for a black man had 
the use of him all his life-time, but if he bought 
from an English captain the services of an indentured 
white man, he could only have those services for 
a few months or years. It certainly was much 
more convenient to have an African slave. 

There were not many of these slaves at first. 
An occasional shipload was brought from Africa, 
but it was not until after fifty years that negroes 
made any considerable part of the population. 
They had families, and all the children were slaves 
like their parents. More were bought of captains 
who made a business of going to Africa to trade for 
slaves, just as they might have gone to the East In- 

dies for spices. The plantations were growing larger, 
and the more slaves a man had, the more tobacco 
he could raise ; the more tobacco he could raise, 
the richer he was. Until long after the year 1732, 
the people in Virginia were wont to reckon the cost 
of things, not by pounds, shillings, and pence — the 
English currency, — but by pounds of tobacco — 
the Virginia currency. The salaries of the clergy 
were paid in tobacco ; so were all their fees for 
christening, marrying, and burying. Taxes were 
paid and accounts were kept in tobacco. At a few 
points there were houses to which planters brought 
their tobacco, and these warehouses served the pur- 
pose of banks. A planter stored his tobacco and 
received a certificate of deposit. This certificate 
he could use instead of a check on a bank. 

The small planters who lived high up the rivers, 
beyond the point where vessels could go, floated 
their tobacco in boats clown to one of the ware- 
houses, where it made part of the cargo of some 
ship sailing for England. But the largest part of 
this produce was shipped directly from the great 
plantations. Each of these had its own storehouse 
and its own wharf. The Virginia planter was his own 
shipping merchant. He had his agent in London. 
Once a year, a vessel would make its way up the river 
to his wharf. It brought whatever he or his family 
needed. He had sent to his agent to buy clothes, 
furniture, table-linen, tools, medicine, spices, for- 
eign fruits, harnesses, carriages, cutlery, wines, 
books, pictures, — there was scarcely an article 
used in his house or on his plantation for which 
he did not send to London. Then in return he 
helped to load the vessel, and he had just one 
article with which to make up the cargo — tobacco. 
Now and then tar, pitch, and turpentine were sent 
from some districts, but the Virginia planter rarely 
sent anything but tobacco to England in return 
for what he received. 

Chapter II. 


LET us visit in imagination one of these Virginia 
plantations, such as were to be found in 1732, and 
see what sort of life was led upon it. 

To reach the plantation, one is likely to ride for 
some distance through the woods. The country 
is not yet cleared of the forest, and each planter, as 
he adds one tobacco-field to another, has to make 
inroads upon the great trees. Coming nearer, one 
rides past tracts where the underbrush is gone, but 
tall, gaunt trees stand, bearing no foliage and look- 
ing ready to fall to the ground. They have been 
girdled, that is. have had a gash cut around the 
trunk, through the bark, quite into the wood ; 




thus the sap can not flow, and the tree rots away, 
falling finally with a great crash. The luckless 
traveler sometimes finds his way stopped by one 
of these trees fallen across the road. By the 
border of these tracts are Virginia rail-fences, 
eight or ten feet in height, which zig-zag in a 
curious fashion, — the rails, twelve feet or so in 
length, not running into posts, but resting on one 
another at the ends, like a succession of W's. 
When the new land is wholly cleared of trees, 
these fences can be removed, stick by stick, and 
set farther back. No post-holes have to be dug, 
nor posts driven in. 

Now the tobacco-fields come into view. If the 
plant is growing, one sees long rows of hillocks 
kept free from weeds, and the plant well bunched 
at the top, for the lower leaves and suckers are 
pruned once a week; and as there is a worm which 
infests the tobacco, and has to be picked off and 
killed, during the growth of the plant all hands 
are kept busy in the field. 

I have said that there were scarcely any towns 
or villages in Virginia, so one might fancy there 
was some mistake ; for what means this great col- 
lection of houses ? Surely here is a village ; but 
look closer. There are no stores or shops or 
churches or schoolhouses. Rising above the rest 
is one principal building. It is the planter's 
own house, which very likely is surrounded by- 
beautiful trees and gardens. At a little distance 
are the cabins of the negroes, and the gaping 
wooden tobacco-houses, in which the tobacco 
is drying, hung upon poles and well sunned 
and aired, for the houses are built so as to allow 
plenty of ventilation and sunlight. The cabins of 
the negroes are low wooden buildings, the chinks 
filled in with clay. Many of them have kitchen 
gardens about them, for the slaves are allowed 
plots of ground on which to raise corn and melons 
and small vegetables for their own use. The 
planter's house is sometimes of wood, sometimes 
of brick, and sometimes of stone. The one 
feature, however, which always strikes a stranger 
is the great outside chimney, — usually there is one 
at each end of the house, — a huge pile of brick 
or stone, rising above the ridge-pole. Very often, 
too, there are wide verandas and porches. In 
this climate, where there are no freezing-cold 
winters, it is not necessary to build chimneys in 
the middle of the house, where the warmth of 
the bricks may serve to temper the air of all the 
rooms. Moreover, in the warm summers it is well 
to keep the heat of the cooking away from the 
house, so the meals are prepared in kitchens 
built separate from the main house. Inside the 
great house, one finds one's self in large, airy 
rooms and halls ; wide fireplaces hold blazing 

fires in the cool days, and in the summer there is 
a passage of air on all sides. Sometimes the 
rooms are lathed and plastered, but often they are 
sheathed in the cedar and other woods which grow 
abundantly in the country. There is little of that 
spruce tidiness on which a New England house- 
keeper prides herself. The house servants are 
lazy and good-natured, and the people live in a 
generous fashion, careless of waste, and indiffer- 
ent to orderly ways. 

The planter has no market near by to which he 
can go for his food ; accordingly he has his own 
smokehouse, in which he cures his ham and smokes 



his beef; he has outhouses and barns scattered 
about, where he stores his provisions ; and down 
where the brook runs, is the spring-house, built over 
the running stream. Here the milk and butter and 
eggs are kept standing in buckets in the cool fresh 
water. The table is an abundant but coarse one. 
The woods supply game, and the planter has herds 
of cattle. But he raises few vegetables and little 
wheat. The English ship brings him wines and 
liquors, which are freely used, and now and then 
one of his negro women has a genius for cooking 
and can make dainty dishes. The living, however, 
is rather profuse than nice. 

It fits the rude, out-of-door life of the men. The 
master of the house spends much of his time in the 

J 96 



saddle. He prides himself on his horses, and 
keeps his stables well filled. It is his chief busi- 
ness to look after his estate. He has, to be sure, 
an overseer, or steward, who takes his orders and 
sees that the various gangs of negroes do their re- 
quired work; but the master, if he would succeed, 
himself must visit the several parts of his planta- 
tion and make sure that all goes on smoothly. He 
must have an eye to his stock, for very likely he 

the bear and the wild cat. With other planters he 
rides after the hounds ; and they try their horses 
on the race-course. The man who can ride the 
hardest, shoot the surest, lift the heaviest weight, 
run, leap, and wrestle beyond his fellows, is the 
most admired. 

With so free and independent a life, the Virgin- 
ian is a generous man, who is hospitable both to 
his neighbors and to strangers. If he hears of 


has blooded horses ; he must see that the tobacco 
is well harvested ; he must ride to the new field 
which is being cleared, and inspect his fences. 
There is enough in all this to keep the planter in 
his saddle all day long. 

With horses in the stable and dogs in the ken- 
nel, the Virginian is a great hunter. He lives in 
a country where he can chase not only the fox, but 

any one traveling through the country and putting 
up at one of the uncomfortable little inns, he 
sends for him to come to his house, without wait- 
ing for a letter of introduction. He entertains his 
neighbors, and there are frequent gatherings of 
old and young for dancing and merry-making. 
The tobacco crop varies, and the price of it is con- 
stantly changing. Thus the planter can never 



reckon with confidence upon his income, and, with 
his reckless style of living, he is often in debt. He 
despises small economies, and looks down upon 
the merchant and trader, whose business it is to 
watch closely what they receive and what they pay 

The Virginian does not often go far from his plan- 
tation. His chief journey is to the capital, at Will- 
iamsburg, where he goes when the colonial House 
of Burgesses is in session. Then he gets out his 
great yellow coach, and his family drive over 
rough roads and come upon other planters and 
their families driving through the woods in the 
same direction. At the capital, during the session, 
are held balls and other grand entertainments, 
and the men discuss the affairs of the colony. 
They honor the King and pay their taxes without 
much grumbling, but they are used to managing 
affairs in Virginia without a great deal of interfer- 
ence from England. The new country helps to 
make them independent ; they are far away from 
King and Parliament and Court ; they are used 
to rule ; and in the defense of their country against 
Indians and French they have been good soldiers. 

But what is the Virginian lady doing all this 
time ? It is not hard to see, when one thinks of 
the great house, the many servants, the hospitality 
shown to strangers, and the absence of towns. 
She is a home-keeping body. She has to provide 
for her household, and as she can not go shopping 
to town, she must keep abundant stores of every- 
thing she needs. Often she must teach her chil- 
dren, for very likely there is no school near, to 
which she can send them. She must over- 
see and train her servants, and set one to spin- 
ning, another to mending, and another to sewing; 
but she does not find it easy to have nice work done ; 
her black slaves are seldom skilled, and she has to 
send to England for her finer garments. There is 
no doctor near at hand, and she must try her hand 
at prescribing for the sick on the plantation, and 
must nurse white and black. 

In truth, the Virginian lady saves the Old Do- 
minion. If it were not for her, the men would be 
rude and barbarous ; but they treat her with un- 
failing respect, and she gives the gentleness and 
grace which they would quickly forget. Early in 
this century some one went to visit an old Virgin- 
ian lady, and she has left this description of what 
she saw : 

" On one side sits the chambermaid with her 
knitting; on the other, a little colored pet learning 
to sew ; an old decent woman is there with her 
table and shears, cutting out the negroes' winter 
clothes ; while the old lady directs them all, in- 
cessantly knitting herself. She points out tome 
several pair of nice colored stockings and gloves 

she has just finished, and presents me with a pair 
half-done, which she begs I will finish and wear 
for her sake." 

Chapter III. 


The old lady thus described was the widow of 
George Washington, and so little had life in Vir- 
ginia then changed from what it had been in 1732, 
that the description might easily stand for a portrait 
of George Washington's mother. Of his father he 
remembered little, for though his mother lived long 
after he had grown up and was famous, his father 
died when the boy was eleven years old. 

It was near the shore of the Potomac River, 
between Pope's Creek and Bridge's Creek, that 
Augustine Washington lived when his son George 
was born. The land had been in the family ever 
since Augustine's grandfather, John Washington, 
had bought it, when he came over from England 
in 1657. John Washington was a soldier and a 
public-spirited man, and so the parish in which 
he lived — for Virginia was divided into parishes 
as some other colonies into townships — was named 
Washington. It is a quiet neighborhood; not a 
sign remains of the old house, and the only mark 
of the place is a stone slab, broken and overgrown 
with weeds and brambles, which lies on a bed of 
bricks taken from the remnants of the old chimney 
of the house. It bears the inscription : 


The 11th of February, 1732 (old style) 

George Wafhington 

was born 

The English had lately agreed to use the calen- 
dar of Pope Gregory, which added eleven days to 
the reckoning, but people still used the old style 
as well as the new. By the new style, the birthday 
was February 22, and that is the day which is 
now observed. The family into which the child 
was born consisted of the father and mother, Au- 
gustine and Mary Washington, and two boys, 
Lawrence and Augustine. These were sons of 
Augustine Washington and a former wife who 
had died four years before. George Washington 
was the eldest of the children of Augustine and 
Mary Washington ; he had afterward three brothers 
and two sisters, but one of the sisters died in in- 

It was not long after George Washington's birth 
that the house in which he was born was burned, 
and as his father was at the time especially inter- 
ested in some iron-works at a distance, it was 




determined not to rebuild upon the lonely place. 
Accordingly Augustine Washington removed his 
family to a place which he owned in Stafford 
Count) - , on the banks of the Rappahannock River 
opposite Fredericksburg. The house is not now 
standing, but a picture was made of it before it 
was destroyed. It was, like many Virginia houses 
of the day, divided into four rooms on a floor, 
and had great outside chimneys at either end. 

Here George Washington spent his childhood. 
He learned to read, write, and cipher at a small 
school kept by Hobby, the sexton of the parish 
church. Among his playmates was Richard Henry 
Lee, who was afterward a famous Virginian. When 
the boys grew up, they wrote to each other of grave 
matters of war and state, but here is the beginning 
of their correspondence, written when they were 
nine years old. 

" Richard Henry Lee to George Washington : 

" Pa brought me two pretty books full of pictures he got them 
in Alexandria they have pictures of dogs and cats and tigers and 
elefants and ever so many pretty things cousin bids me send 
you one of them it has a picture of an elefant and a little Indian 
boy on his back like uncle jo's sam pa says if I learn my tasks 
good he will let uncle jo bring me to see you will you ask your 
ma to let you come to see me. Richard henry Lee." 

"George Washington to Richard Henry Lee: 

"Dear Dickey I thank you very much for the pretty picture- 
book you gave me. Sam asked me to show him the pictures and 
I showed him all the pictures in it ; and I read to him how the 
tame elephant took care of the master's little boy, and put him 
on his back and would not let anybody touch his master's 
little son I can read three or four pages sometimes without miss- 
ing a word. Ma says I may go to see you, and stay all day 
with you next week if it be not rainy. She says I may ride my 
pony Hero if Uncle Ben will go with me and lead Hero. I have a 
little piece of poetry about the picture book you gave me, but I 
must n't tell you who wrote the poetry. 

"'G. W.'s compliments to R. H. L., 
And likes his book full well, 
Henceforth will count him his friend, 
And hopes many happy days he may spend. 

" Your good friend, George Washington. 

" I am going to get a whip top soon, and you may see it and 
whip it." * 

It looks very much as if Richard Henry sent his 
letter off just as it was written. I suspect that his 
correspondent's letter was looked over, corrected, 
and copied before it was sent. Very possibly 
Augustine Washington was absent at the time on 
one of his journeys ; but at any rate the boy owed 
most of his training to his mother, for only two 
years after this, his father died, and he was left to 
his mother's care. 

She was a woman born to command, and since 
she was left alone with a family and an estate to 
care for, she took the reins into her own hands, 
and never gave them up to any one else. She 
used to drive about in an old-fashioned open 
chaise, visiting the various parts of her farm, just 
as a planter would do on horseback. The story 

is told that she had given an agent directions how 
to do a piece of work, and he had seen fit to do it 
differently, because he thought his way a better 
one. He showed her the improvement. 

" And pray," said the lady, " who gave you any 
exercise of judgment in the matter? I command 
you, sir ; there is nothing left for you but to 

In those days, more than now, a boy used very 
formal language when addressing his mother. He 
might love her warmly, but he was expected to 
treat her with a great show of respect. When 
Washington wrote to his mother, even after he 
was of age, he began his letter, " Honored Madam," 
and signed it, "Your dutiful son." This was a 
part of the manners of the time. It was like the 
stiff dress which men wore when they paid their 
respects to others ; it was put on for the occasion, 
and one would have been thought very unman- 
nerly who did not make a marked difference 
between his every-day dress and that which he 
wore when he went into the presence of his betters. 
So Washington, when he wrote to his mother, 
would not be so rude as to say, " Dear Mother." 

Such habits as this go deeper than mere forms 
of speech. I do not suppose that the sons of this 
lady feared her, but they stood in awe of her, 
which is quite a different thing. 

"We were all as mute as mice, when in her 
presence," says one of Washington's companions; 
and common report makes her to have been very 
much such a woman as her son afterward was a 

I think that George Washington owed two strong 
traits to his mother, — a governing spirit, and a spirit 
of order and method. She taught him many lessons 
and gave him many rules ; but, after all, it was her 
character shaping his which was most powerful. 
She taught him to be truthful, but her lessons 
were not half so forcible as her own truthfulness. 

There is a story told of George Washington's 
boyhood — unfortunately there are not many 
stories — which is to the point. His father had 
taken a great deal of pride in his blooded horses, 
and his mother afterward took great pains to keep 
the stock pure. She had several young horses 
that had not yet been broken, and one of them in 
particular, a sorrel, was extremely spirited. No 
one had been able to do anything with it, and it 
was pronounced thoroughly vicious, as people are 
apt to pronounce horses which they have not learned 
to master. George was determined to ride this 
colt, and told his companions that if they would 
help him catch it, he would ride and tame it. 

Early in the morning they set out for the past- 
ure, where the boys managed to surround the 
sorrel and then to put a bit into its mouth. Wash- 

* From B. J. Lossing's " The Home of Washington.' 

1 886.] 



ington sprang on its back, the boys dropped the 
bridle, and away flew the angry animal. Its rider 
at once began to com- 
- ,.,> ;"W:- mand ; the horse re- 

iwSe^rTz <^ - -&. back- 

"It is well; but while I regret the loss of my 
favorite, I rejoice in my son who always speaks the 

The story of Washington's killing the blooded 
colt is of a piece with other stories less particular, 
which show that he was a very athletic fellow. Of 
course, when a boy becomes famous, every one likes 

to remember 

^ e 



!• *e?*s>_ SX* «5C ; WSS«SSS¥5i*\. •■«?<*- 


ing about the field, rearing and plunging. The 
boys became thoroughly alarmed, but Washington 
kept his seat, never once losing his self-control or 
his mastery of the colt. The struggle was a sharp 
one ; when suddenly, as if determined to rid itself the whole height. He undoubtedly took part in 

the wonderful 
things he did 
before he was 
famous, and 
w hen they 
grew up, used 
to show the 
spot by the 
near Fred- 
w here he 
stood and 
threw a stone 
to the opposite bank ; and at the celebrated Nat- 
ural Bridge, the arch of which is two hundred feet 
above the ground, they always tell the visitor 
that George Washington threw a stone in the air 

all the sports which were the favorites of his coun- 
try at that time — he pitched heavy bars, tossed 
quoits, ran, leaped, and wrestled; for he was a 




of its rider, the creature leaped into the air with a 
tremendous bound. It was its last. The violence 
burst a blood-vessel, and the noble horse fell dead. 

Before the boys could sufficiently 
recover to consider how they should 
extricate themselves from the 
scrape, they were called to break- 
fast; and the mistress of the house, 
knowing that they had been in the 
fields, began to ask after her stock. 

" Pray, young gentlemen," said 
she, "have you seen my blooded 
colts in your rambles? I hope 
they are well taken care of. My 
favorite, I am told, is as large as 
his sire." 

The boys looked at one another, 
and no one liked to speak. Of 
course the mother repeated her 

"The sorrel is dead, madam," 
said her son. " I killed him ! " 

And then he told the whole story. 
They say that his mother flushed 
with anger, as her son often used to, and then, like powerful, large-limbed young fellow, and he had 
him, controlled herself, and presently said, quietly : a very large and strong hand. 

(To be continued.) 

The illustrations on this page are copied from the original pictures in Mr. B. J. I.ossing's "Mt. Vernon and its Associations," 
by permission of Messrs. J. C. Yorston fc Co., Cincinnati, Ohio. 











By John R. CORYELL. 

If we did not know it to be so, it would be hard 
to believe that any animal could make its home in 
the midst of the almost perpetual snow and ice of 
the far north. And yet many more animals than 
are generally supposed to do so live in that intense 
cold, and have accommodated themselves to their 
surroundings. For example, the mosquito, which 
we are wont to think of as belonging only to the 
hottest climates, has been found, with wings and 
bill in good working order, as far north as man has 
ever gone. 

However, it is not the mosquito, but the white 
bear, which claims attention just now, and it 
deserves attention for the manner in which it has 
adapted itself to its strange mode of life. 

It is not called an amphibious animal, but might 
probably be so called, for it is perfectly at home in 
the water, — indeed it has been known to pursue 
and capture so nimble a fish as the salmon. Nor 
is it only a swift swimmer; it can swim very great 
distances, as it often needs to do, for it is fre- 
quently carried far out to sea on the huge cakes 
of ice which, as spring comes on, break off and 
float away to the south. 

The polar bear's foot is unusually long and 
broad even for a bear's foot, and this peculiarity 
aids in enabling it to swim so rapidly. But the 
great foot is of most use in crossing the slippery 
ice or crusted snow. The under part of the foot 
is covered with long, soft fur, which answers the 
double purpose of keeping the foot warm in spite 

of constant contact with the cold ice, and of pre- 
venting the awkward slipping which would certainly 
occur if the sole of the foot were hard and smooth. 

As a rule, the white bear avoids man and exerts 
all its strength and cunning in capturing its prey. 
It prefers some member of the seal family, prob- 
ably because the seals are usually so plump and 
tender. Apparently a baby walrus is a choice 
morsel for it, for it never neglects an opportunity of 
pouncing on one. 

In the water, the walrus would be more than a 
match even for the polar bear, its huge tusks and 
terrible strength making it the most formidable 
of sea mammals ; but on the ice, despite the fierce 
courage with which both parents fight for their 
offspring, the battle is too unequal, and the un- 
lucky little walrus, caught napping, usually falls 
a victim to the big bear. And it frequently hap- 
pens that one or both of the parent-walruses are 
killed in the vain attempt to rescue their baby. 

Nennook, as the white bear is called by the 
Eskimo, frequently displays great cunning in capt- 
uring the wary seal, which, fearing its enemy, 
takes its nap on the ice close by the edge, ready 
to roll into the water at the first alarm. The bear 
slips quietly into the water a long distance from 
the sleeping seal, and then swims under water, 
stopping occasionally to put out his head and 
breathe, until he is in such a position that the 
seal cannot get into the water without falling into 
his clutches. 

By H. H. Bovesen. 

Chapter I. 

On the northwestern coast of Norway, the 
mountains hide their heads in the clouds and dip 
their feet in the sea. In fact, the cliffs are in some 
places so tall and steep that streams, flowing 
from the inland glaciers and plunging over their 
sides, vanish in the air, being blown in a misty 
spray out over the ocean. In other places there 
may be a narrow slope, where a few potatoes, 
some garden vegetables, and perhaps even a 

patch of wheat, may be induced to grow by dint 
of much coaxing; for the summer, though short, 
is mild and genial in those high latitudes, and has 
none of that fierce intensity which, with us, forces 
the vegetation into sudden maturity, and sends 
our people flying toward all the points of the com- 
pass during the first weeks in June. 

In was on such a sunny little slope, right under 
the black mountain-wall, that Halvor Myrbraaten 
had built his cottage. Halvor was a merry fellow, 
who went about humming snatches of hvmns and 




old songs and dance-melodies all day long, and 
sometimes mixed up both words and tunes wo- 
fully ; and when his memory failed him, he 
sang the first thing that popped into his head. 
Some people said they had heard him humming 
the multiplication table to the tune of " Old Nor- 
way's Lion," and whole pages out of Luther's 
Catechism to jolly dance tunes. Not that he 
ever meant to be irreverent ; it was just his way 
of amusing himself. He was an odd stick, 
people thought, and not of much use to his 
family. Whatever he did, " luck " went against 
him. But it affected his temper very little. Hal- 
vor was still light-hearted and good-natured, and 
went about humming, as usual. If he went out 
hunting and came home with an empty pouch, it 
did not interfere in the least with his gayety ; but 
knowing well the reception which was in store for 
him, it did occasionally happen that he paused 
with a quizzical look before opening the door, and 
perhaps, after a minute's reflection, concluded to 
spend the night in the barn ; for Turid, his wife, 
had a mind of her own, and knew how to express 
herself with emphasis. She was, as every one 
admitted, a very worthy and competent woman, 
and accomplished more in a day than her husband 
did in a fortnight. But worthy and competent 
people are not invariably the pleasantest people to 
associate with, and the gay and genial good-for- 
nothing Halvor, with his bright, irresponsible 
smile and his pleasant ways, was a far more popu- 
lar person in the parish than his austere, estima- 
ble, over-worked wife. For one thing, with all 
her poverty, she had a great deal of pride ; and 
people who had never suspected that one so poor 
could have any objection to receiving alms had 
been much offended by her curt way of refusing 
their proffered gifts. Halvor, they said, showed 
a more realizing sense of his position : he had the 
humble and contrite heart which was becoming in 
an unsuccessful man, and accepted with equal 
cheerfulness and gratitude whatever was offered 
him, from a dollar bill to a pair of worn-out mit- 
tens. It was, in fact, this extreme readiness to 
accept things which first made difficulty between 
Halvor and his wife. It seemed to him a pure waste 
of labor to work for a thing which he could get for 
nothing; and it seemed to her a waste of some- 
thing still more precious to accept as a gift what 
one might have honestly earned by work. But as 
she could never hope to have Halvor agree with 
her on this point, she comforted herself by impress- 
ing her own horror of alms-taking upon her chil- 
dren ; and the children, in their turn, impressed 
the same sound principles upon their pet kid and 
the pussy cat. 

There were five children at Mvrbraaten. Hans, 

the eldest, was ten years old, and Dollv, the 
youngest, was one, and the rest were scattered 
between. It was a pretty sight to see them of a 
summer afternoon on the grass plot before the 
house, rolling over one another and gamboling 
like a sportive family of kittens ; only you could 
hardly help feeling vaguely uneasy about the mount- 
ain, the steep, black wall of which, sparsely clad 
with pines, rose so threateningly above them. It 
seemed as if it must, some day, swoop down upon 
them and crush them. The mother, it must be 
admitted, was occasionally oppressed by some such 
fear ; but when she reflected that the mountain 
had stood there from time immemorial, and had 
never yet moved, or harmed any one, she felt 
ashamed of her apprehension, and blamed herself 
for her distrust of God's providence. 

Besides the children, there was another young 
inhabitant of the Mvrbraaten cottage, and surely 
a very important one. He, too, was named Hans, 
but, in order to distinguish him from the son of the 
house, the word "Little" was prefixed, and the 
latter, although he was really the smaller of the 
two, was called, by way of distinction, Big Hans. 
The most remarkable thing about Little Hans was 
that he had, in spite of his youth, a very well- 
developed beard. Big Hans, who had not a hair 
on his chin, rather envied him this manly orna- 
ment. Then, again, Little Hans was a capital 
fighter, and could knock you down in one round 
with great coolness and sweet-tempered seriousness, 
as if he were acting entirely from a sense of duty. 
He never used any hard words ; but, the moment 
his adversary attempted to rise, Little Hans qui- 
etly gave him another knock, and winked wick- 
edly at him, as if warning him to lie still. He 
never bragged of his victories, but showed a 
modest self-appreciation to which very few of his 
age ever attain. Big Hans, who valued his friend 
and namesake above others, and had a hearty 
admiration for his many fine qualities, declared 
himself utterly unable to rival him in combative- 
ness, modesty, and coolness of temper. For Big 
Hans, I am sorry to say, was sometimes given to 
bragging of his muscle and of his skill in turning 
hand-springs and standing on his head, and he 
could easily be teased into a furious terhper. Now, 
Little Hans could not turn hand-springs, nor could 
he stand on his head ; but, though he promptly 
resented any trifling with his dignity, I never once 
knew him to lose his temper. He never laughed 
when anything struck him as being funny ; in fact, 
he seemed to regard every boisterous exhibition 
of feeling as undignified. He only turned his 
head away and stood chewing a piece of paper 
or a straw, with his usual look of comical gravity 
in his eye. 




Many people wondered at the fast friendship 
which bound Big Hans and Little Hans together. 
Their tastes, people said, were dissimilar ; in tem- 
perament, too, they had few points of resemblance. 
And yet they were absolutely inseparable. Wher- 
ever Big Hans went, Little Hans was sure to follow. 
Often they were seen racing along the beach or 
climbing up the mountain-side ; and, as Little Hans 
was a capital hand (or ought I to say foot ?) at climb- 
ing, Big Hans often had hard work to keep up with 
him. Sometimes Little Hans would leap up a 
rock which was so steep that it was impossible for 
his friend to climb it, and then he would grin 
comically down at Big Hans, who would stand be- 
low calling tearfully to his companion until he 
descended, which usually was very soon. For 
Little Hans was very fond of Big Hans, and 
could never bear to see him cry. And that is not 
in the least to be wondered at, as Big Hans had 
saved him from starvation and death when Little 
Hans was really in the sorest need. Their ac- 
quaintance began in the following manner: one 
day when Big Hans was up in the mountains trap- 
ping hares, he heard a feeble voice in a cleft of the 
rocks near by, and, hurrying to the spot, he found 
Little Hans wedged in between two great stones, 
and his leg caught in so distressing a manner that 
it cost Big Hans nearly an hour's work to set it 
free. Then he dressed the bruised foot with a rag 
torn from the lining of his coat, and carried Little 
Hans home in his arms. And as Little Hans's 
parents had never claimed him, and he himself 
could give no satisfactory account of them, he had 
thenceforth remained at Myrbraaten, where all 
the children were very fond of him. Turid their 
mother, on the other hand, had no great liking 
for him, especially after he had devoured her hymn- 
book (which was her most precious property) 
and eaten with much appetite a piece of Dolly's 
dress. For, as I intimated, Little Hans's tastes 
were very curious, and nothing came amiss when 
he was hungry. He had a trick of pulling off 
Dolly's stockings when she was sitting out on the 
green, and, if he were not discovered in time, he 
was sure to make his breakfast off of them. With 
these tastes, you will readily understand, Big Hans 
could have no sympathy, and the only thing which 
could induce him to forgive Little Hans's eccen- 
tricities was the fact that Little Hans was a goat. 


In the winter of 1S7-, a great deal of snow fell 
on the northwestern coast of Norway. The old 
pines about the Myrbraaten cottage were laden 

down with it ; the children had to be put to work 
with snow-shovels early in the morning, in order 
to hollow out a tunnel to the cow-stable where the 
cow stood bellowing with hunger. The mother, 
too, worked bravely, and sometimes when the 
thin roof of snow caved in and fell down upon 
them, and made them look like wandering snow- 
images, they all laughed heartily, and their mother, 
too. could not help laughing, because they were 
so happy. Little Hans also made a pretense of 
working, but only succeeded in being in every- 
body's way, and when the cold snow drizzled down 
upon his nose he grinned and made faces so queer 
that the children shouted with merriment. 

Day after day, and week after week, the snow 
continued to descend. Big Hans and his friend 
sat at the window watching the large feathery 
flakes, as they whirled slowly and silently through 
the air and covered the earth far and near with a 
white pall. Soon there was a scarcity of wood at 
the Myrbraaten cottage, and Halvor was obliged 
to get into his skees* and go to the forest. Hum- 
ming the multiplication table (so far as he knew 
it) to the tunc of a hymn, he pulled on his 
warmest jacket, took his ax from its hiding-place 
under the eaves, and went in a slanting line upon 
the mountain-side ; but, before he had gone many 
rods it struck him that it was useless to go so 
far for wood, when the whole mountain-slope was 
covered with pines. Fresh pine would be a little 
hard to burn, to be sure, but then pine was full of 
pitch and would burn, anyhow. He therefore 
took off his skees, dug a hole in the snow, and 
felled three or four trees only a few hundred rods 
above the cottage. When his wife heard the sound 
of his ax so near the cottage, she rushed out and 
cried to him : 

" Halvor, Halvor, don't cut down the trees on 
the slope ! They are all that keep the snow from 
coming down upon us, in an avalanche, and sweep- 
ing us into the ocean ! " 

" Oh, the Lord will look out for his own," sang 
Halvor cheerily." 

" The Lord put the pine-trees there to protect 
us," replied his wife." 

But the end was that, in spite of his wife's pro- 
tests, Halvor continued to fell the trees. 

The heavy fall of snow was followed in the 
course of a week by a sudden thaw. 

Strange creaking and groaning sounds stole 
through the forest. Sometimes, when a large load 
of snow fell, it rolled and grew as it rolled, until it 
dashed against a huge trunk and nearly broke it 
with its weight. 

Then, one night, there came down a great load 

* A kind of snow-shoes, by means of which one glides over the snow without sinking into it. Skees are from five to ten feet long, bent 
upward and pointed at the front end and cut off squarely at the other. They must be made of tough, strong pine without knots in it. 




which fell with a dull thud and rolled down and 
down, pushing a growing wall of snow before it, 
until it reached the clearing where Halvor had cut 
his wood; there, meeting with no obstructions, it 
gained a tremendous headway, sweeping all the 
snow and the felled trunks with it, and rushed down 
in a great mass, carrying along stones, 
shrubs, huge trees, and the very soil 

itself, leavim 
rock behind 
it. How- 
terrible was 
the sight ! 


the bare 

lanche had wrought. All that was left of Myrbraa- 
ten was the cow-stable, where the cow and Little 
Hans and Big Hans had slept. Little Hans had 
been very ill-behaved the night before, so Turid 
had sent him to sleep with the cow ; and Big Hans, 
wlio thought it would be cruel to ask his com- 
panion to spend the night in that dark stable, 
with only a cow for company, had gone with him 
and slept with him in the hay. Thus it happened 
that Little Hans and Big Hans both were saved. 
It was pitiful to see them 
shivering in the wet snow. 
Big Hans was crying, 
his heart would 


A smoke -like cloud rose in the darkness, and a 
sound as of a thousand thundering cataracts filled 
the night. On it swept, onward, with a wild, 
resistless speed ! At the jutting rock, where the 
juniper stood, the avalanche divided, tearing up the 
old spruces and the birches by the roots and hurl- 
ing them down, but leaving the juniper standing 
alone on its barren peak. It was but a moment's 
work. The avalanche shot downward with in- 
creased speed — hark ! — a sharp shriek, a smoth- 
ered groan, then a fierce hissing sound of waves that 
rose toward the sky and returned with a long thun- 
dering cannonade to the strand ! The night was 
darker and the silence deeper than before. 


Where the Myrbraaten cottage had stood, the 
bare rock now stares black and dismal against the 
sun. The rumor of the calamity spread like wild- 
fire through the valley, and the folk of the whole 
parish came to gaze upon the ruin which the ava- 

break; and the women who crowded about him 
were unable to comfort him. What should he, a 
small boy of ten, do alone in this wide world? 
His father and his mother and his little brothers 
and sisters all were gone, and there was no one 
left who cared for him. Just then Little Hans, 
who was anxious to express his sympathy, put his 
nose close to Big Hans's face and rubbed it against 
his cheek. 

"Yes, you are right, Little Hans," sobbed the 
boy, embracing his faithful friend; "you do care 
for me. You are the only one I have left now, in 
all the world. You and I will stand by each other 
always. " 

Little Hans then said. " Ma-a-a," which in his 
language meant, "Yes." 

The question soonarose in the parish, — what was 
to be done with Big Hans ? He had no relatives 
except a brother of his mother, who had emigrated 
many years before to Minnesota ; and there was no 
one else who seemed disposed to assume the burden 
of his support. It was finally decided that he 



20 = 

should be hired out as a pauper to the lowest 
bidder, and that the parish should pay for his 
board. But when the people who bid for him 
refused to take Little Hans too, the boy deter- 
mined, after some altercation with the authorities, 
to seek his uncle in America. One thing he was sure 
of, and that was that he would not part from Little 
Hans. But there was no one in the parish who 
would board Little Hans without extra pay. Ac- 
cordingly, the cow and the barn were sold for the 
boy's benefit, and he and his comrade went on 
foot to the city, where they bought a ticket for 
New York. 

Thus it happened that Big Hans and Little 
Hans became Americans. But before they reached 
the United States, some rather curious things 
happened to them. The captain of the steam- 
ship, Big Hans found, was not willing to take a 
goat as a passenger, and Big Hans was forced to 
return with his friend to the pier, while the other 
emigrants thronged on board. He was nearly at 
his wit's end, when it suddenly occurred to him to 
put Little Hans in a bag and smuggle him on 
board as baggage. This was a lucky thought. 
Little Hans was quite heavy, to be sure, but he 
seemed to comprehend the situation perfectly, 
and kept as still as a mouse in his bag while Big 
Hans, with the assistance of a benevolent fellow- 
passenger, lugged him up the gang-plank. And 
when he emerged from his retirement some time 
after the steamer was well under way, none of the 
officers even thought of throwing the poor goat 
overboard ; for Little Hans became a great favorite 
with both crew and passengers, although he played 
various mischievous pranks, in his quiet, unosten- 
tatious way, and ate some shirts which had been 
hung out to dry. 

It was early in April when the two friends 
arrived in New York. They attracted considerable 
attention as they walked up Broadway together; 
and many people turned around to laugh at the 
little emigrant boy, in his queer Norwegian cos- 
tume, who led a full-grown goat after him by a 
halter. The bootblacks and the newsboys pointed 
their fingers at them, and, when that had no effect, 
made faces at them, and pulled Big Hans by 
his short jacket and Little Hans by his short tail. 
Big Hans was quite frightened when he saw how 
many of them there were ; but, perceiving that 
Little Hans was not in the least ruffled, he felt 
ashamed of himself, and took heart again. Thus 
they marched on for several blocks, while the 
crowd behind them grew more and more boisterous 
and importunate. Suddenly, one big boy, who 
seemed to be the leader of the gang, sprang for- 
ward with a yell and knocked off Big Hans's hat, 
while all the rest cheered loudly ; but, just as he was 

turning around to enjoy his triumph, Little Hans 
turned around too, and gave him a bump from 
behind which sent him headlong into the gutter. 
Then, rising on his hind legs, Little Hans leaped 
forward again and again, and dispatched the second 
and third boy in the same manner, whereupon all 
the rest ran away, helter-skelter, scattering through 
the side streets. It was all done in so quiet 
and gentlemanly a manner, that not one of the 
grown-up spectators who had gathered on the 
sidewalk thought of interfering. Big Hans, how- 
ever, who had intended to see something of the city 
before starting for the West, was so discouraged 
at the inhospitable reception the United States had 
given him, that he gave up his purpose, and re- 
turned disconsolately to Castle Garden. There he 
spent the rest of the day, and when the night came, 
he went to sleep on the floor, with his little bundle 
under his head ; while Little Hans, who did not 
seem to be sleepy, lay down at his side, quietly 
munching a piece of pie which he had stolen from 
somebody's luncheon basket. 

Early the next morning, Big Hans was awakened 
by a gentle pulling at his coat-collar; and, 
looking up, he saw that it was Little Hans. He 
jumped up as quickly as he could, and he found 
that it was high time, for all the emigrants had 
formed into a sort of a procession and were fil- 
ing through the gate on their way to the rail- 
way station. There were some seven or eight 
hundred of them, — toil-worn, sad-faced men and 
women, and queer-looking children in all sorts of 
outlandish costumes. Big Hans and his friend ran 
to take their places at the very end of the pro- 
cession, and just managed to slip through the 
gate before it was closed. At the railway station 
the boy exhibited his ticket which he had bought 
at the steamship office in Norway, and was just 
about to board the train, when the conductor cried 
out : 

" Hold on, there ! This is not a cattle train ! 
You can't take your goat into the passenger-car ! " 

Big Hans did not quite comprehend what was 
said, but from the expression of the conductor's 
voice and face, he surmised that there was some 
objection to his comrade. 

" I think I have money enough to buy a ticket 
for Little Hans, too," he said, in his innocent Nor- 
wegian way, as he pulled a five-dollar bill from his 

" I don't want your money," cried the conduc- 
tor, who knew as little of Norwegian as Big Hans 
did of English. "Get out of the way there with 
your billy goat ! " 

And he hustled the boy roughly out of the way 
to make room for the other emigrants, who were 
thronging up to the platform. 




" Well, then," said Big Hans, "since they don't 
want us on the train, Little Hans, we shall have to 
walk to Minnesota. And as this railroad is going 
that way, I suppose we shall get there if we follow 
the track." 

Little Hans seemed to think that this was a good 
plan ; for, as soon as the train had steamed off, he 
started at a brisk rate along the track, so that 
his master had great difficulty in keeping up with 
him. For several hours they trudged along cheer- 
fully, and both were in excellent spirits. Minne- 
sota, Big Hans supposed, might, perhaps, be a 

off in different directions ; and, as there was no 
one to ask, he sat down patiently in the shade 
of a tree and determined to wait. Presently a man 
came along with a red flag. 

" Perhaps you would kindly tell me if this is 
the way to Minnesota," said Big Hans, taking off 
his cap and bowing politely to the man. 

The man shook his head sullenly, but did not 
answer ; he did not understand the boy's language. 

"And you don't happen to know my Uncle 
Peter Volden ? " essayed the boy, less confidently, 
making another respectful bow to the flagman. 


!; V ->v--^# &»-*').,, f 

fe-:*3fi!&&^ 7, 

I i 






day's journey off, and if he walked fast he thought 
he would probably be there at nightfall. When 
once he was there, he did not doubt but that every- 
body would know his Uncle Peter. He was some- 
what puzzled, however, when he came to a place 
where no less than three railroad tracks branched 

" You area queer loon of a chap," grumbled the 
man ; " but if you don't jump off the track with 
your goat, the train will run over both of you." 

He had hardly spoken, when the train was seen 
rounding the curve, and the boy had just time 
to pull Little Hans over into the ditch, when the 



locomotive came thundering along, sending out 
volumes of black smoke, which scattered slowly in 
the warm air, making the sunlight for a while seem 
gray and dingy. Big Hans was almost stunned, 
but picked himself up, with a little fainter heart 
than before, perhaps ; but, whispering a snatch of a 
prayer which his mother had taught him, he 
seized Little Hans by the halter, and started once 
more upon his weary way r after the train. 

" Minnesota must be a great ways off, I am 
afraid," he said, addressing himself, as was his 
wont, to his companion ; " but if we keep on walk- 
ing, it seems to me we must, in the end, get there ; 
or, what do you think, Little Hans? " 

Little Hans did not choose to say what he 
thought, just then, for his attention had been 
called to some tender grass at the roadside which 
he knew tasted very sweet. Big Hans was then 
reminded that he, too, was hungry, and he sat 
down on a stone and ate a piece of bread which 
he had brought with him from Castle Garden. 
The sun rose higher in the sky and the heat grew 
more and more oppressive. Still the emigrant 
boy trudged on patiently. Whenever he came to a 
station he stopped, and read the sign, and shook his 
head sadly when he saw some unfamiliar name. 

"Not Minnesota yet, Little Hans," he sighed; 
" I am afraid we shall have to take lodgings some- 
where for the night. I am so footsore and tired." 

It was then about six o'clock in the evening, 
and the two friends had walked about twenty miles. 
At the next station they met a hand-organ man, 
who was sitting on a truck, feeding" his monkey. 

Big Hans, who had never seen so funny an 
animal before, was greatly delighted. He went 
close up to the man, and put out his hand cau- 
tiously to touch the monkey. 

" Are you going to Minnesota, too? " he asked, 
in a tone of great friendliness; "if so, we might 
bear each other company. I like that hairy little 
fellow of yours very much." 

The hand-organ man, who, like most men of 
his calling, was an Italian, shook his head, and 
the monkey shook his head, too, as if to say, "All 
that may be very fine, but I don't understand it." 

The boy, however, was too full of delight to 
notice whether he was understood or not ; and 
when the monkey took off his little red hat and 
offered to shake hands with him, he laughed until 
the tears rolled down his cheeks. He seemed to 
have entirely forgotten Little Hans, who was stand- 
ing by, glowering at the monkey with a look which 
was by no means friendly. The fact was, Little 
Hans had never been accustomed to any rival in 
his master's affection, and he did n't enjoy in the 
least the latter's interest in the monkey. He kept 
his jealousy to himself, however, as long as he 

could ; but when Big Hans, after having given ten 
cents to the organ man, took the monkey on his 
lap and patted and stroked it, Little Hans's heart 
was ready to burst. He could not endure seeing 
his affections so cruelly trifled with. Bending 
his head and rising on his hind legs, he darted 
forward and gave his rival a knock on the head 
that sent him tumbling in a heap at Big Hans's 
feet. The Italian jumped up with a terrible shout 
and seized his treasure in his arms. The monkey 
made an effort to open its eyes, gave a little shiver, 
and — was dead. The boy stood, staring in mute 
despair at the tiny stiffened body; he felt like a 
murderer. Hardly knowing what he did, he seized 
Little Hans's halter ; but in the same moment the 
enraged owner of the monkey rushed at the goat 
with the butt end of his whip uplifted. Little 
Hans, who was dauntless as ever, dexterously 
dodged the blow, but the instant his antagonist 
had turned to vent his wrath upon his master, he- 
gave him an impetus from behind which sent him 
headlong out upon the railroad track. A crowd of 
men and boys (of the class who always lounge about 
railroad stations) had now collected to see the 
fight, and goaded both combatants on with their 
jeering cries. The Italian, who was maddened with 
anger, had just picked himself up, and was plung- 
ing forward for a second attack upon Little Hans, 
when Big Hans, seeing the danger, flung himself 
over his friend's back, clasping his arms about his 
neck. The loaded end of the whip struck BigHans 
in the back of the head; without a sound, the 
boy fell senseless upon the track. 

Then a policeman arrived, and Little Hans, 
the Italian, and the insensible boy were taken to 
the police station. A doctor was summoned, and 
he declared that Big Hans's wound was very dan- 
gerous, and that he must be taken to the hospital. 
And there the emigrant boy lay for six weeks, 
hovering between life and death ; but when, at the 
end of that time, he was permitted to go out, he 
heard with dread that he was to testify at the 
Italian's trial. A Norwegian interpreter was easily 
found, and when Hans told his simple story to 
the judge, there were many wet eyes in the court- 
room. And he himself cried, too, for he thought 
that Little Hans was lost. But just as he had 
finished his story, he heard a loud " Ba-a-a " in 
his ear ; he jumped down from the witness-stand 
and flung his arms about Little Hans's neck and 
laughed and cried as if he had lost his wits. 

It is safe to say that such a scene had never be- 
fore been witnessed in an American court-room. 

The next day Big Hans and Little Hans were 
both sent by rail, at the expense of some kind- 
hearted citizens, to their uncle in Minnesota. And 
it was there I made their acquaintance. 




By Sophie May. 

" THERE 'S a storm brewing," said Tempestuous 
Moody, bringing in a large forestick, and groaning 
as he laid it on the fire. 

It was one hundred and two years ago, or his 
baptismal name would not have been Tempestu- 
ous ; though I dare say he would have groaned at 
any date, for he could hardly have existed at all, 
whatever the year or century, except as a rheu- 
matic town pauper, doing "chores" for his 
" keeping." 

" Ah ?" said busy Mrs Vane, paying no more 
heed to his words than to the singing of the tea- 
kettle, high up in the fire-place. 

" Yes, a trimmer of a storm, sartin sure," pur- 
sued Tempestuous, thrusting his hands in his 
pockets and watching his mistress as she swung 
the heavy iron pot of bean porridge upon the great 
" lug-pole " to warm over for breakfast, and set 
her corn-cakes to bake in the Dutch oven before 
the fire. 

"Yes, Nancy, I 'm afeard it 's so; the clouds 
do look threatening," said dear old Mr. Vane, who 
had just entered the kitchen, and was trying to 
warm his chilled thumbs in his scanty silver hair. 

The brisk housewife set down her red box of 
"Labrador tea," — or dried raspberry leaves — 
with a thud. 

" O Grandsir, not a real drifting storm ! " ex- 
claimed she, thinking of her husband, Lieutenant 
James Vane, who was on his way "home from the 
wars." He had left Annapolis more than two 
weeks before on horseback, and should have fin- 
ished his journey by this time, but he had to 
cross a very wild country, and was probably now 
in the very heart of the Massachusetts wilderness. 

" Maybe father '11 get snowed up, the way Cap- 
tain Tuttle was," suggested little Asa, who could 
remember nothing about his father except his 
three-cornered hat and silver knee-buckles. 

"No, no ; I look for him any minute," said the 
mother with a reassuring smile ; but her fingers 
trembled slightly as she pinned the blue and white 
cotton kerchief closer about her throat, and went 
to the west window, followed by the three elder 

They were far from neighbors, and the most 
they could see through the small panes of glass 
were the familiar black stumps of their own " clear- 
ing," partially hidden under the December drifts, 
and overhead a lowering sky, with now and then a 
whirling snow-flake. The storm had begun. 

There was a grand mountain-view from the back 
door, but that was obscured now ; and presently 
the unsightly stumps and the tall well-sweep were 
thoroughly whitened by the fast-falling snow. A 
great storm had set in, a storm to be measured by 
feet, not inches — first the snow, then the wind 
following close after it. 

Tempestuous groaned ; but Mrs. Vane tried to 
smile, and her head never drooped as she drew 
her soft brown hair up higher than ever and fas- 
tened it with a goose-quill. "Grandsir" Vane 
looked at her admiringly, and told droll Indian 
stories, and nothing could have been cheerier than 
his cracked old voice, unless, maybe, the chirp of 
a cricket. Dear Grandsir ! Did he ever think of 
his fine old mansion in Boston, where in by-gone 
days he had often tossed baby Nancy up to the ceil- 
ing and kissed her under the Christmas mistletoe, 
according to the quaint old English fancies? Did 
he ever sigh for the bright candelabras she called 
"stars," for the richly tiled fireplaces, the heavy 
oaken doors, the well-groomed horses, the faith- 
ful, keen-scented hunting-dogs ? Nobody knew. 

And what had become of these " treasures 
galore?" Ah, the pitiless British soldiers had 
seized the house and plundered it ; and the little 
that was left, the childless old man had freely 
given to his country in the hour of her need. And 
here he was now, in the heart of the wilderness, 
shivering under as rude a storm as ever beat 
against a settler's cabin. 

For two nights there was such a shrieking and 
howling of the wind, such a rattling of the hinged 
windows, that even the children sleeping in the 
loft awoke at intervals and thought anxiously of 
their father. 

Good Mr. Vane folded his aged hands under 
the blue woolen " counterpane," and prayed that 
" Nancy might not see any more trouble ; for O 
Lord, thou knowest she has had a hard time for 
the past three years, and more than once it has 
a'most broken her heart to send her poor little 
children to bed with nothing for supper but mo- 
lasses and water. She 's a Christian woman, and 
bears up and bears up ; but I pray Thee, O Lord, 
don't try her too far ! I 'm afeard it is n't in her to 
stand much more." 

The storm was over at last. On the third day 
the sun arose in a generous mood, and looked 
with a neighborly smile toward the log-cabin of 
the Vanes. What had become of it ? The place 

a 886.] 




Vol. XIII.— 14. 




where it used to stand was nothing now but one 
swelling drift of snow, capped by the very tip of 
the stone chimney, which served as a needful 
breathing-hole for the buried family inside. 

The children came down the ladder in the 
morning, rubbing their eyes and asking what 
made it so dark ? To their surprise, no cheerful 
blaze greeted them from the big fireplace. The 
snow had dropped into the ashes overnight and 
quenched the deeply-buried coals. The fire was 
actually out ! This in itself was a dire calamity. 

"What shall we do? What shall we do?" 
wailed Ruth, echoed by Isaac. And oh ! what 
was that in the dim corner — a bear ? No, it was 
only the beloved grandfather, shielded from the 
cold by his bear-skin coat and coon-skin cap, 
while he patiently clicked together two pieces of 
flint in order to strike a spark. 

Tedious process ! A friction match would have 
done it instantly and saved all the trouble ; only, 
you see, if they had waited for a friction match, 
they would have waited fifty years ! 

"Now I know what it is that's happened; 
we 're buried alive ! " screamed Patty hysterically. 
Whereupon the other children screamed, too, and 
they all walked into the fireplace — it was as big 
as the bedrooms at some watering-places — and 
gazed with curiosity and despair up the chimney, 
whence came their sole ray of light. 

"We were never snowed under before — never 
any deeper than the tops of the windows," said 
Ruth ; " shall we ever get out ? " 

" Yes, indeed, some time," replied her mother, 
smiling with high courage. 

" Well, but I s'pose we can't go to school any- 
more this winter, nor to meetin' either," remarked 
Isaac, by way of experiment. 

At the delightful suggestion, little Asa had to run 
behind the door of the "Hampshire cupboard" to 
hide his smiles. He knew it was wicked ; but oh ! 
the joy of not going to meetin' to be scolded by the 
tithing-man ! — of not going to school to be flogged 
by the master ! 

"Don't be discouraged, youngsters !" said the 
guileless grandfather, rubbing his hands as the 
fire began to curl up the chimney — "Go to 
school? — of course you will! Not to-day, I 'm 
afeard, — no, not to-day; but there are more days 
a-coming. And Tempestuous, you '11 be obleeged 
to make a road to the barn, for the stock must be 
fed and watered, whether or no." 

The " stock " consisted of a pig and cow. Tem- 
pestuous was "beat," so he declared. "I'll 
undertake anything in reason, but I can't get to 
the barn ! " 

His mistress turned and looked at him. She 
was a woman who did not mind such trifles 

as impossibilities. "Yes, you can," she said; 
' ' you can get out of the gable window, and walk 
on snow-shoes. The barn can't be quite buried, 
for it is higher than the house. And you must 
take a shovel with you to dig your way back." 

The chore-man seemed quite dazzled with the 
brilliancy of this scheme, till he reflected on the 
labor it would cost. 

"Yes, ma'am," he whined; " only it is n't at all 
likely I can open that gable winder. But I '11 try 
it, if you '11 wait till I get limbered up, — say, along 
about the middle of the forenoon." 

And then he limped along to the settle. 

Mrs. Vane had many trials, and not the least 
of them had been this dead-and-alive man, neither 
servant nor boarder, who was never "limbered 
up" for any serious undertaking till " along about 
the middle of the forenoon." But as he could 
not be driven, she wisely said no more. 

After breakfast, he condescended to help Mr. 
Vane put on the yule-log which had been brought 
in overnight. 

" This is what they call Christmas-day, young- 
sters ! " said the grandfather with a genial smile. 
" Christmas-day they call it ; we can not afford to. 
make any jollification ; still I see no harm myself 
in a yule-log," added the old patriot, gazing com- 
placently at the red blaze, already hot enough for 
a barbecue. 

" And I myself see no harm in a candle," said 
the house-mother, lighting a tallow dip with reck- 
less prodigality. 

"Ah, well, it 's a white Christmas, Nancy, a. 
pretty white Christmas ; but the Lord sent the 
weather, and we '11 bear it." 

The children's faces had brightened wonderfully. 

" See me ! " said Isaac, riding a chair across the 
floor ; " I 'm Paul Revere a-horseback ! " 

" See me; I 'm a ' lobster ! ' " — meaning a British 
soldier, — said little Asa, winding a scarlet comforter 
about his neck. 

"Well, well, let 'em caper," said the tender- 
hearted grandfather, turning to wipe away a tear as. 
he mused. " Poor things — fatherless, far 's I 
know ! And here 's a cold, stormy winter upon us,, 
and not a bit of meat in the house." 

Perhaps Nancy divined his thoughts, for she 
paused in her work to stroke his withered cheek and 

"That's right, Grandsir; James is safe in the 
Lord's keeping, wherever he is, and we '11 not. 
waste the day sighing ! " 

"No, we 'II not, Nancy. No, we'll not; you 
have the right kind of courage, my dear, that can't 
be killed out, any more than Canada thistles." 

"Oh, Mother, say, may n't we parch corn and 
eat apples, and play fox and geese, seeing it 's 


21 I 

Christmas ? " pleaded young Paul Revere, meeting 
with a " header," as his horse rode into the settle. 

" Yes, if you don't make too much noise. And 
may be we '11 roast those big potatoes and have some 
hasty pudding and molasses for dinner," replied 
the mother, well aware that nothing was better cal- 
culated to raise the tone of the family spirits. 

" It 's a terrible pity we could n't have a spare- 
rib to roast ; such a complete good fire for it," 
observed Tempestuous, the kill-joy, looking up ai: 
the hook over the mantel-piece, from which he had 
often seen a juicy spare-rib suspended by a string. 
But that was in the good old times before James 
Vane had gone to fight against King George, silly 
creature ! Tempestuous had always kept his po- 
litical views to himself, but the war was over now, 
and he could hurrah for George Washington as 
loud as the rest. 

There was something weird and unnatural about 
the day. The candle looked as if it did not know 
why it was burning, and the tall clock in the corner 
ticked as if it were talking in its sleep. The por- 
trait of Oliver Cromwell, coarse-featured and stern, 
glowered from the wall in disapproval, and the 
profiles of " great-grandsir and grandma'am Har- 
vard" — black as ink, and suspected by little Asa 
of being negroes — looked down with astonish- 
ment ; that is, if they could be said to look at 
all, having no eyes, and only one eyelash apiece. 
But the white Christmas went on all the same. 

It came to be ''along about the middle of the 
forenoon," and Tempestuous was gradually be- 
coming limbered, and wondering "whether or no 
that cow and pig would n't want to see him," when 
suddenly a peculiar sound was heard overhead — 
"a trampling, crushing sound," Patty said, "as if 
it was in the chimney." 

They all listened for it and it ceased ; but pres- 
ently, when they were talking, it began again, — or 
so Patty said, who was nearest the fireplace, — 
and it made her nervous. 

" It 's a strange day. Oh, if Father would only 
come ! " sighed she. 

" Where can he be ? " asked the other children, 
for the twentieth time. 

Ah! If they could only have known! If they 
could only have guessed ! 

The good man had been greatly hindered on his 
journey by the storm, as they rightly supposed. 
For the past two days, as his horse could not go 
through the drifts, he had been obliged to leave 

the animal behind, and walk on snow-shoes. To- 
day he had traveled in this hard way for ten miles 
over hills and valleys of snow, till now, at eleven 
o'clock, he was actually standing on his own white 
roof, faint and exhausted, listening to the prattle 
of his children. How had he been able to distin- 
guish his own buried house, lying silently in its 
" white sleep " ? The outline of the chimney had 
been his only landmark. Still there he stood now, 
well muffled in bear-skins, his pockets full of 
candy and toys for the little ones — the kind 
father ! but waiting for the right moment to re- 
veal himself. 

How he longed to see as well as hear ! How 
famished he was, after a fast of nearly twenty-four 
hours ! And what a savory odor was wafted to his 
nostrils from the pot of pease boiling on the lug- 
pole ! Yet the sound of his voice would terrify the 
children, and he dared not speak. He laughed 
silently at his absurd position, but it was a tanta- 
lizing one, and was fast becoming unendurable. 

At last, when he could wait no longer in his 
eagerness to see and embrace his family, he threw 
a snow-ball down the chimney, shouting as it 
bounced upon the fore-stick : 

" Don't be afraid ! It 's only Father." 

The people of those early days had strong 
nerves, perhaps ; at any rate, no one fainted. 
And, of course, after a moment they understood it 
all ; and then the children shouted ! " Grandsir " 
said, "The Lord be praised!" Tempestuous 
sprang from the settle without groaning ; and 
Mrs. Vane, who always had her thoughts about 
her, exclaimed: " Wait, James ! We '11 take the 
fire off the andirons and cool the chimney, and 
then you can come down ! " 

For nobody thought of stopping for Tempestu- 
ous to dig out the gable window. He had to do it 
as soon as his master saw him, let me tell you, and 
I am glad to record that the imprisoned "stock" 
were found alive and well. 

But was n't it a strange home-coming for Lieu- 
tenant .Vane? And did any man ever "drop 
down " upon his family more unexpectedly ? I 'm 
sure no one ever met with a warmer reception ! 

And it is my opinion that he is the first Santa 
Claus who ever ventured into a New England 
chimney. If you doubt it, Patty's granddaughter 
can show you the very snow-shoes he wore on that 
strange white Christmas a hundred and two years 




<rjf^ Ready for Bus 

ess; orChoosing an Occupation. 


which tends to illustrate 
the difference between 
house-builders and mem- 
)ers of their own profession, 
ears that Mr. Alexander, an 
eminent English architect, was in a 
certain lawsuit under cross-examination by a dis- 
tinguished barrister who wished to detract from 
the weight of his testimony, and who, after asking 
him his name, proceeded : 

" You are a builder, I believe ? " 

" No, sir," was the reply, " I am not a builder ; 
I am an architect. " 

" They are much the same, I suppose?" 

" I beg your pardon, sir ; I can not admit that; 
I consider them to be totally different." 

" Oh, indeed ! perhaps you will state wherein 
this great difference exists." 

"An architect, sir," replied Mr. Alexander, "con- 
ceives the design, prepares the plan, draws out the 
specifications — in short, supplies the mind ; the 
builder is the bricklayer or the carpenter. The build- 
er, in fact, is the machine ; the architect, the power 
that puts the machine together and sets it going." 

" Oh, very well, Mr. Architect," said the lawyer ; 
" and now, after your ingenious distinction without 
a difference, perhaps you can inform the court who 
was the architect of the Tower of Babel?" — to which 
question Mr. Alexander made the prompt and tell- 
ing rejoinder : 

"There was no architect, sir, and hence the 

Mr. Alexander evidently had a very good opin- 
ion of his profession, and, considering the difficulty 
with which success in it is attained, he was cer- 
tainly justified in thinking well of it. For, it 
is only fair to say at the outset that the boy who 

* Copyright by C. 

would be a 
really good 
boss archi- 
tect must 
go through 
patiently for 
years for the 
rewards of 
his study. 
But to the 

youth who can afford to " labor and to wait," and 
who has a proper talent for the occupation, the pro- 
fession of an architect furnishes a very agreeable, 
lucrative, and " genteel " field for earning a living. 
At the age of fifteen, a boy can tell whether he 
is fitted by nature and circumstances to be an 
architect. To begin with, he should have an 
artistic mind ; at all events, a mind that is not 
positively and absolutely mechanical in its opera- 
tions. A distinguished architect informed me, 
much to my surprise, that he was not by nature 
sufficiently artistic for the purposes of his profes- 
sion, and, in that regard, he had to rely on well- 
qualified assistants. On the other hand, there 
must be a taste for mathematics, for, while the 
purely artistic mind can give the architectural idea 
beauty in form, it will of itself fail in the power of 
construction. The boy should understand algebra 
and geometry ; should have learned to draw from 
casts and from life, and should begin to cultivate 
his taste, which little word, as defined by Webster 
is, " nice perception, or the power of perceiving 
and relishing excellence in human performance ; 
the faculty of discerning beauty, order, con- 
formity, symmetry, or whatever constitutes excel- 
lence." And this effort should be directed, not 
only toward art, but into literature and music, also. 

J. Manson, 1S84. 


2 1 

In art, it would be well to make a special study of 
color. A term or two in one of the schools of 
technology and design would be very beneficial ; 
for in such an institution, coming in contact, as 
he will, with other pupils, and having all sorts of 
difficult problems forced upon his attention, his 
intellect will be quickened and his progress helped 
by the spirit of competition. But the mere fact 
of having graduated at such an institution will 
be of no help to him unless he has made good use 
of the advantages it affords. The schools are not 
to blame, — but too many boys, while able to answer 
questions put to them in regard to special studies, 
are not able to put to practical use the learning 
they have acquired. Such, at least, is a complaint 
often heard from practical architects. 

Having finished his school studies at the age of, 
say, seventeen, if the boy is able to spare the time 
and the money, he should go to Paris and there 
become a pupil in the School of Fine Arts. This 
is practically a free school. There is an initiation 
fee amounting to ten dollars, and dues are assessed 
each month to the sum of about one dollar and 
twenty cents of American money, — these dues 
being applied to the purchase of material for the 
school. Boys and young men from all countries go 
there to study painting, sculpture, and architect- 
ure ; and, it may be said, there is no part of the 
world where better accommodations and more in- 
spiring influences can be found for the study of 
these arts than the capital of France. 

To enter the architectural branch of this school, 
the candidate must pass an examination in ele- 
mentary mathematics, history, free-hand drawing, 
and architecture. He is obliged to obtain a certain 
number of " points," or good marks, as we should 
call them, before he can be considered a pupil. 

There are two classes in the architectural school, 
the second and first. The beginner enters the 
second class, and while there passes an examina- 
tion in mathematics, including analytical geometry, 
conic sections, geometry, perspective, and survey- 
ing. Then there is an examination in architect- 
ural construction, which is partly oral, and partly 
consists in making an original design for a building ; 
the student has three months' time in which to 
make this plan. In the meanwhile, he hears lect- 
ures on various topics pertaining to his studies. 
Aside from this, every two months there is a 
twelve hours' " competition," each student mak- 
ing the sketch of a building which, during the 
two months following the competition, is to be 
wrought out and elaborated, under the direction 
of a professor. These sketches are publicly ex- 
hibited and inspected by a committee of twenty or 
twenty-five of the most eminent architects of Paris. 
The committee render judgment upon them, and 

award "first" or "second mention," according 
to the quality of the work. To become a pupil 
of the first class, one must have passed six exam- 
inations and have obtained six " first mentions " 
in the competitions of which I have just spoken. 

In the first class, there are no more examinations, 
but the contests are much more difficult. The 
competitions are still public, and a jury still gives 
its judgment on the work of the pupils. 

There is no specific time for graduation; a 
student graduates when he has received the 
required number of " first mentions." It would 
hardly be possible, under the most favorable con- 
ditions, to graduate in less time than two years 
and six months. Many pupils remain at the 
school from five to eight years without being able 
to enter the first class. 

After graduating from this school, the pupil 
enters the office of an architect, in some European 
or American city, at a salary commensurate with 
his abilities. There he will very soon acquire a 
practical knowledge of his profession, and after 
a while will be able to open an office for himself. 

But let us suppose that the boy could not afford 
to go to Paris, and that he has graduated from one 
of the Technical Schools of Design, of which there 
are several in the country. What does he do 
then? He enters the office of an architect. In 
England this is considered a great privilege and 
has to be roundly paid for ; but here no charge is 
exacted, and the student occasionally, though only 
for a short time, gives his services gratuitously to 
his employer. His first work will be what is called 
"inking." The "plan" of a building is first 
made in pencil, for the reason that during the 
progress of the drawing erasures may have to be 
made. When the drawing is considered to be 
correct, the lines are " inked " over by the begin- 
ner with a ruling-pen. Under the direction of his 
employer, he will also be studying books on archi- 
tectural construction. The best book on this 
subject is an English work, entitled " Notes on 
Building Construction." in four volumes, three of 
which have been published. And here it may 
be said that the literature of architecture is vast. 
Some of the most useful books are in the French 
language; hence a knowledge of that language, or 
at least the ability to read it, is exceedingly desir- 

The boy's progress will depend on his talent and 
industry. After a while he will be able to make a 
plan of a floor in a small house ; then of several 
floors; then an " elevation," which is a representa- 
tion of the flat side of a building, drawn with 
mathematical accuracy, but without the slightest 
attention to effect ; and from that he will grad- 
ually work into details and complete knowledge. 




While working for his employer, and learning 
the theoretical part of his profession, he will not 
have had many opportunities, during the ordi- 
nary hours of business, to have seen work in the 
course of execution. These opportunities he must 
seize as best he can. His office hours will not be 
so late that he can not, if he is so disposed, find 
time to visit buildings in course of erection and see 
how the work is being done. For the architect is 
a sort of clerk of the works, and is obliged to see 
that the plan he has made is being carried out 
according to the specifications. He must obtain a 
knowledge of all the materials used in the con- 
struction of a building, — the wood, the stone, the 
iron, the plumbing pipes and fittings. All this 
seems quite formidable, but it is not a severe task. 
The information is picked up gradually during 
the progress of office work, and the effort in ob- 
taining it will hardly be felt. 

The question of what wages the student will 
have while he is in the office is a very difficult one 
to answer. There is no settled rate of pay for 
young men in such positions ; the general rule 
seems to be to pay them what they are worth. 
One assistant may be making six or eight dollars a 
week, and another, in the same office, twenty dollars 
a week, both having been there the same length 
of time. It may be said, however, that after he has 
been in an architect's office for five years a young 
man, who has the proper talent and has been 
faithful to his work, should be earning from twenty- 
five to thirty dollars a week. If he has been in- 
dolent, he can not expect such wages. A promi- 
nent architect informed me that he had employed 
in his office men fifty years of age who were 
absolutely inaccurate in the simplest details of 
the art ; because they had never taken the pains 
to thoroughly learn their profession. 

But the enterprising young architect will prob- 
ably wish to open an office of his own. To do 
this successfully he must secure patrons through 
personal acquaintances and influential friends. 
When he starts, he will know something in regard 
to what he can depend upon. He has a certain 
circle of friends and acquaintances. From these 
he ought reasonably to expect a certain number 
of commissions, and, if he does good work, he will 
be recommended from one to another, until his 
services are in demand. No rule can be set down 
in such a case any more than in regard to a 
lawyer's or a doctor's practice. It all depends upon 

the man and his surroundings. For some time, 
he will have to make plans of small private houses 
and private dwellings. When he has become the 
architect of some public building, and has de- 
signed a structure which not only pleases his em- 
ployers, but attracts the attention of the general 
public, it may be safe to say that he is on the 
high road to pecuniary fortune. 

For drawing the plan of a house to cost six 
or seven thousand dollars the architect receives 
from three hundred to three hundred and fifty dol- 
lars ; in short, as a rule, his fee is five per cent, 
on the cost of the building. But upon buildings 
costing one hundred thousand dollars or more, the 
price paid the architect is usually a matter of 
special agreement. 

During his early years, his greatest expense will 
be for books. As already stated, the literature of 
architecture is extensive and, it might be added, 
expensive ; but books the young architect must 
have, and many of them. His capital lies as much 
in his head as in his fingers, and the more he 
knows, the better able will he be to do his work, 
and the better work will he be able to do. He 
must be a constant student. The taste of the 
public changes ; new styles of building are de- 
manded ; new materials are introduced in their 
construction. A few years ago, terra cotta began 
to be extensively used in building, and forthwith 
all the architects had to make a special study of 
that article, which, as you know, plays an impor- 
tant part in some of the finest buildings in our large 
cities. The student must read also good periodicals 
relating to his profession, and, if possible, some of 
the French publications, which are very good. 

If a young man fails in making at least a good 
living as an architect, it seems to me it must be 
through his own fault. From what I have said, he 
must see that the full knowledge for the profession 
is not easily acquired. It takes time, and a long 
time, to become proficient in it ; but this will not 
deter a youth whose ambition and talent lie in 
that direction. " Some travelers," says Bishop 
Hall, "have more shrunk at the map than at the 
way; between both, how many stand still with their 
arms folded ! " Once having started on your archi- 
tectural journey, pursue it bravely, perseveringly, 
patiently, to the end. Above all, having made up 
your mind to be an architect, look to it that you 
do not stand with folded arms lingering by the 




irn 5, srnoo 








in one Dicxcc 





eople passed dy, 

ut neVer sold one, 3 

useless., xp \r 



<^nd bloW fbe born! 

pe nouse P6.S run 6,w<5.y 
He j}d,rlor &nd lj?e si{tjn6~roorrH 
I rcoula nt mexke \b 

'em sto 

kifcben 6T?d fbe ainincb-rooFf? 

ile&?e 6one oft 6.rrn in 6,rmw 

6,11 the little bearooms^ttx)^ 








By A. Temple Bellew. 

T a window, 
trying to count 
the stars in the 
Christmas sky, 
stood two little 
children. The 
little girl and 
the little boy 
lad both been 
born in a far- 
away country 
called Germany ; 
and the hut in 
!H which they were 
might have been 
many, so smoky and 
was it within, and 
tered was it by trees 
but it was really in the 
New Jersey, and the 
waved bare branches above 
of the woods that crowned 
Orange Mountains, 
of the two children had 

so shel- 

State of 
trees that 
it were part 
one of the 

The father 

come to America, two years before, strong-hearted 
and hopeful, — poor fellow ! — with his rosy-cheeked 
young wife and two chubby, round-eyed babies. 
But the rosy-cheeked young wife had died, and 
he was left all alone in a strange country with his 
two little children to keep and care for; and at 
first he had succeeded very fairly, — by tilling, 
scraping, and clearing the small patch of ground 
he owned. But at last came a year when, be- 
tween the potato-bugs in the ground, and the 
chills and the fever in his own bones, he had a 
sorry time ; and on Christmas Eve of that year, 
he had been more than a week in bed, aching in 
every joint, and perfectly helpless with the worst 
attack he had yet known. 

The children, poor little things, were very good, 
and cared for him to the best of their small ability. 
Meenie was only five years old, but rather tall for 
her age, — indeed, she was quite as tall as Otto, who 
was six, and more helpful than many an American 
boy of twelve. He kept the fire bright with broken 
branches which he picked up, and fed his sister 
with bread and sausage as long as there was any 
with which to feed her. The father could eat 
nothing, and Otto munched his crusts dry. That 
night he had given Meenie the last bit of bread ; 
there was not a crumb more in the cupboard, nor 

a scrap of sausage, nor a penny with which to buy 
any. And if there had been heaps of pennies, Otto 
would not have known where to spend them, for 
their father did all their shopping, such as it was,, 
at the village three miles away, and they them- 
selves rarely stirred outside the woods. 

The father turned in his sleep and muttered', 
strange words, for the fever had mounted to his 
head. Meenie was frightened, so Otto took her 
to the window to count the stars, and, as they 
watched, a thought came into Otto's mind. 

It was Christmas Eve — that he knew perfectly, 
for his father had been telling them about it con- 
tinually for weeks before, and had even talked of 
it in his sleep during the last few days. And when- 
ever he spoke of Christmas he would tell them the 
story of the wise men following the star until 
it led them to the manger where the little Christ 
child lay. He had heard it read and told so often 
by the good pastor of his little native village that 
the words had never lost themselves in his 
mind, and he was always able to repeat it, and in 
exactly the same way, every time they wanted to 
hear it ; and it was of this story that Otto was think- 
ing as they counted the stars. He wondered which 
star it was — it must have been that large bright 
one so nearly overhead; perhaps, if he were to 
follow it, he too might find the Christ child, and 
then all their troubles would be ended ; — he might 
try at least. 

"Meenie," he said, — in German, as he could 
not speak English, — "I am going to follow that 
big star there, and see if I can find the little 
Christ child." 

" Yes, and Meenie will go too," answered 
Meenie, nodding her head with satisfaction. 

"No, no, Meenie, it will be too cold, and you 
will be too tired." 

But Meenie only smiled, and repeated, "Meenie 
will go too ! " So Otto said no more. 

He built up the fire with the largest sticks he 
could find, and placed a tin cup of water by his 
father's bedside, in case he should awake and be 
thirsty before their return; then he wrapped Meenie 
up in the queer, green, knitted scarf she always 
wore out-of-doors, and they crept from the house. 

It was cold, cold, dreadfully cold ! The sky was 
black and cold; the stars were-shining and cold; 
and the wind came in long cold gusts that made 
the trees shudder, as if they missed their summer 
clothing. The snow was frozen so stiff on tOD that 



S Meenie's wooden shoes clattered 
pair of castanets. 
Watching the star and their own footsteps by turns, 
they made their way through the wood to the high- 
road ; there the wind, having no trees to break its 
force, came howling down upon them and made 
^ Meenie whimper with cold. Otto chafed her fin- 
gers in his own cold little hands, and ran with her, 
to warm themselves ; but the road was so slippery, packed 
hard by wagons and sleighs, that they were afraid of fall- 
ing, and soon walked again. Whenever they looked up at 
the star, it beamed back at them, clear and steady. 

"We are following it," said Otto, and Meenie nodded 

It was a long, bleak, dark tramp for two little children ; 

a wearisome walk, even for grown people. Sometimes a 

sleigh would go jingling by, and once a man, spying the two 

small figures in the gloom, offered them a ride, but they 

did not understand, and were only frightened, and he drove 

on. Sometimes the road led through woods, sometimes it 

was uphill, sometimes downhill, and sometimes level ; then 

came a sharp turn by an old quarry — oh, so dreary! 

And then they saw the lights of a village sparkling in 

the hollow below them. 

'• Here are houses ! " cried Otto — " a great many 
houses — watch where the star stops ! " 
. / They looked up at their guide, but a fleecy 

1 cloud, one of many drifting from the horizon, had hid- 

den it from sight. " It is gone ! " said Meenie in dismay. 
"It has fallen to the ground, "said Otto; "let us see where it is shining." 
They looked eagerly at all the lights before them. One building seemed 
brighter than the rest; it was nearer to them, but that was not the rea- 
son, — it was really more full of light, which its many long windows 
let out in a flood upon the snow. " It must be there," said Otto; "come, Meenie." 
Holding fast to each other, they half ran, half slid down the hill, until they reached the open gate. 
There were steps to mount, a long flagged walk between the evergreens, more steps, and then a. 




swinging door. Otto pushed this open, and they 
found themselves in a perfect sea of children. Just 
then the lights went down, down; there was a 
burst of music, organ and childish voices singing : 

" Ring out the bells for Christmas ! " 

At the same moment, there blazed forth at the 
farther end of the room a tree glorified to its top- 
most bough as with hundreds of stars. 

Dazed by the light, the warmth, the music, and 
the tree with its stars, the two little Germans 
clung to each other, and stared at everything, 
half-frightened, all-bewildered. It was so strange 
and beautiful, the voices rising and falling softly, 
the air fragrant with the smell of pine and cedar, 
and the wonderful tree gleaming in the distance. 

The music stopped, and some one began speak- 
ing near the tree ; then there was a ripple in the 
sea of children, and a wave of little girls went up 
the room to the speaker, returning to their places 
with various bright-colored parcels. This was 
repeated with wave after wave, until Otto and 
Meenie became used to it, and almost ceased 
wondering at it ; then they began to remember 
why they had taken the journey, and Meenie 
whispered: " Where is the Christ child? " 

" I don't know. I am looking," answered Otto, 
peering anxiously about the room. 

At the sound of their voices, an old gentleman, 
at whose heels they had been standing all the 
time, looked down at them through his big gold- 
rimmed spectacles, and said : " Hallo ! Where did 
you come from, you queer little people ? " 

Otto could not understand, but felt that he was 
being questioned about something, and so ex- 
plained why they had come out that evening. 
The old gentleman, in his turn, could not under- 
stand ; he looked puzzled for a minute, then touched 
the shoulder of a young lady who was just in front 
of him, and said: "Belle, here's a chance for 
you to try your German." 

The young lady turned with a rustle of silk. 

" Oh, you dear little things ! " she cried, kneel- 
ing down by the children and looking at them with 
eyes as brown and soft as her own seal-skin muff; 
then she said something to them in German, 
in which there seemed to be a great many " kins," 
and Otto eagerly responded. 

" What is it, Belle ?" questioned the old gentle- 
man. Belle in a few quick words told him of the 
sick father, the empty cupboard, and the long cold 
journey to find the Christ child. 

"Poor little things; poor little things!" said 
the old gentleman. " Here, Belle, I say, where 's 
the candy or something? Here," seizing a 
gilded horn that dangled from her hand, "now 
little sloshkin, or whatever they call you, take 
this; I think you can understand that." 

And while Meenie was " understanding it," he 
had an earnest talk, first with Belle, and then 
with an old lady, who came bustling up to them, 
and the result was that the two children pres- 
ently found themselves tucked under buffalo robes 
in a soft-cushioned sleigh, being whisked along 
over the icy road, and next in a big room before a 
blazing fire, where the old gentleman fed them 
with all sorts of goodies, sweet and savory, until 
Belle and the old lady interfered out of regard for 
the children's lives ; then they were again put in 
the sleigh, with the old gentleman, the young 
lady, the black driver, and quite a number of bas- 
kets and bundles. 

Here the little wanderers fell asleep, and so they 
never noticed the long dark road over which they 
had so wearily journeyed before, nor the big soft 
star now disentangled from the cloud and shining 
clearly upon them again. 

The black driver, who knew the way by more 
than one route, took a turn where there was a 
clearing in the woods, and so drove the sleigh 
almost up to the door of the " little Dutch house," 
as he called it. 

The father had been dozing, waking, and dozing 
again, all unconscious of his children's absence ; and 
now he became suddenly wide-awake, to find the 
room aglow with fire-light and candles, and a num- 
ber of people bustling about; after one "ach!" of 
astonishment, he lay back, placidly staring at 
them in that big baby sort of content so peculiarly 
German, and at the loaves of bread, the plump 
hams, the pies, and the endless parcels that were 
being heaped on the table ; at the old gentleman 
who felt his pulse, and gave him a powder to swallow; 
at the black man who filled one corner of the room 
with a pile of wood nearly half as high as himself; 
and finally at his own two little children, now fast 
asleep beside him, under the thick soft blankets 
which the young lady spread over them all, while 
she spoke words of kindness in his own tongue. 
Then his big blue eyes grew piteous instead of 
placid, and the tears came trickling down his hol- 
low cheeks, whereupon the old gentleman immedi- 
ately began to feed him with soup, and scold Belle 
for crying, as if the tears were not running down 
his own dear old face. 

It was not until everything was placed so that 
Otto would have no trouble, the fire safely banked, 
and the father sleeping soundly, that the old gentle- 
man and his party left the "little Dutch house." 

The stars were gleaming frostily in the Christ- 
mas morning sky as they drove homeland as Belle 
looked up at the largest and brightest of them all, 
she promised herself that the little German boy 
and girl should never regret their long journey 
in search of the Christ child. 





(Recollections of a Page in the United States Senate. ) 

By Edmund Alton. 


Chapter XXIX. 


courts of justice; upon his right, the large brick 
Pension Building. 

Leaving the park, we walk but the length of 

THE city of Washington, as the seat of our two short blocks, when we reach the marble 
Federal Government, is of interest to all patriotic headquarters of the Postmaster-General, occupy- 
Americans. It is styled the 
City of Palaces, and the term 
is just ; yet its architectural 
features do not surpass in 
beauty its natural loveliness, 
and it is called also the City 
of Magnificent Distances. Let 
us not end our record until 
we have noted a few of its 

I shall imagine that I have 
encountered a young and 
sturdy tourist standing in the 
center of Judiciary Square, 
with a guide-book in his hand, 
not knowing which is north 
or which is south, or in what 
direction he ought to go. The 
first thing I do is to turn his 
face toward the west, so that 
he may "get his bearings," 


as the saying 



an entire square, — a building interesting from 

Upon his left is the City Hall, with its local the outside, and equally interesting within, because 

'Copyright, 1884, by Edmund Alton. All rights reserved. 




of the curiosities collected in the Dead-letter divis- 
ion, and the army of clerks busily at work in the 
various rooms. 

As we emerge through the northern door, we 
are at once confronted by the splendid Patent 
Office, with massive columns, lengthy corridors, 
expansive Model-room, and its array of glass cases 
filled with the creations of American ingenuity. 
This building covers twice as much ground as its 
neighbor across the way, and is the official home 
of the Secretary of the Interior, with a few of his 
subordinate officers, such as the Commissioners of 
Patents, of the General Land-office, and of Indian 
Affairs, and their hundreds of clerks. As the 
Secretary has not room here for all his immense 
force, the other bureaus, including those of Pen- 
sions, the Geological Survey, and the Census, are 
located elsewhere. 

Continuing onward toward the west, we soon 
arrive at the Treasury Building, dingy and solemn 
in its external appearance, as seen from the Fif- 
teenth street side, but very attractive when we reach 
the elegant Cash-room, and gaze from the gallery 
upon the Eldorado of wealth below. As we can not 
get any of it, however, without a law of Congress, 
there is no need to stop and trouble Secretary 
or Treasurer. 

Passing out upon the northern steps, we see on 
the opposite side of the street the Department of 


Justice, — ■ the brown-colored hiding-place of 
Attorney-General, and the Court of Claims. 
Within a stone's-throw, to the west, and on 



same side as the Treasury, is the Executive Man- 
sion, or "White House," with its East-room, Red- 
room, Blue-room, and other historic apartments. 
This is the place to find the President, and to 
apply to him for almost anything, from an office to 
an autograph. 

Passing by the conservatory, and leaving the 
White House grounds by the western gate, and 
glancing, as we go, at the equestrian statue to the 
north, we appear before the edifice dedicated to 
the uses of the three Departments, — the State, 
the War, and the Navy. 

This completes the tour of the Executive De- 
partments ; so, if we wish, we may take our way, 
like the course of empire, a few streets further 
westward, and visit the National Observatory, 
where, by the wonderful telescope, we can get a 
good look at the Man in the Moon. 

Within full view of the White House, and but 
five-minutes' walk to the south, is the Obelisk, or 
Washington Monument. Of course our young 
tourist goes there, and perhaps enters the elevator 
and takes a voyage up, up, up, for more than five 
hundred feet. When he is up there, of course, 
there is nothing to do but to take a look at the 
surrounding country through the " peep-holes," 
and then come down. 

Having reached the bottom, the nearest build- 
ing of consequence is the Bureau of Engraving 
and Printing, where the Government makes its 
paper money. Passing through the adjoining 
square, belonging to the Department of Agri- 
culture, we cross a street, and enter the grounds 
of the Smithsonian Institute, — the abode of 
mummies and stuffed boa-constrictors, and other 
queer creatures. Here our friend may revel in 
curiosities to his heart's content. He may enter 
either the Institute or the building on the other 
side, which goes by the name of the National 

Leaving this, he soon reaches the Botanical 
Gardens, where he sees further curiosities in the 
shape of exotic plants and flowers. As he quits 
this last inclosure, there looms up before his eyes 
the Capitol. With a few steps he enters the 
sacred precincts of its grounds. I call them 
sacred, for they are. The building and its sur- 
rounding park are not under the control of the 
city authorities, but are governed immediately 
by the two Houses of Congress, with their special 
officers of police. By "city authorities," I mean 
the officers of the municipal government, which, 
as I have told you, is entirely subject to the will 
of Congress. 

Of course, he has not seen all the offices in which 
the executive affairs of the Government are con- 



ducted. Neither has he visited all the points of in- 
terest which he ought to visit. The outskirts of the 
city, with their natural scenery, are a realm of 
delight. Far over upon the eastern hills of the 
Potomac is the beautiful Asylum for the Insane. 
At the extreme end of the city is the Government 
Arsenal. Farther on, around the Eastern Branch, 
is the Navy Yard; farther still is the Congres- 
sional Cemetery. Due north of the Capitol is the 
dreary-looking building presided over by the pub- 
lic printer. On the hills above is the Soldiers' 
Home ; and it would be well for the sight-seer to 
take a jaunt into its woods, if for no other purpose 
than to gaze through the long vista of trees, and 

If I could persuade him, he would, upon recross- 
ing the river, pursue his journey beyond the 
Georgetown Heights, and look at the reservoir, 
the chain bridge, the still more wonderful Cabin 
John Bridge, and the great falls of the Potomac. 

If he prefer the works of art to the works of 
nature, he may find some entertainment in the 
city. The Executive Buildings contain portraits 
of the presidents and cabinet officers of our his- 
tory ; and there is the Corcoran Gallery of Art, 
with choice paintings and sculpture. 

But we may as well assume that the fatigued 
young tourist has not taken my advice, but has 
remained stubbornly at the Botanical Gardens. 



see the Capitol perched in the little opening at 
the end — a lovely picture set in a velvet drapery 
of leaves. 

If our young friend have a horse, I advise him 
not to return from the Home without taking a ride 
along the bridle-paths of Rock Creek on the west ; 
if not a lover of nature, he may as well go a few- 
miles in the other direction, and tramp over the 
famous dueling-ground of Bladensburg. But he 
really ought to cross through the city and over the 
river to Arlington Heights, and go through the 
National Cemetery, with its thousands of white 
slabs marking the resting-place of the heroes of 
our war, and the pathetic monument reared to the 
memory of "The Unknown Dead/' 

Entering the Capitol walk, till recently shaded by 
arching trees, he comes upon the statue of Chief- 
Justice Marshall, at the foot of the terrace. 

Before he begins the ascent of the steps of 
the Capitol, he should observe the grand colon- 
nades on the three porticoes ; if he wishes to see 
more, he will find them on the northern, southern, 
and western balconies. And before entering the 
Rotunda, he may well pause to inspect the figures 
on the bronze doors. 

On the walls of the Rotunda are some large 
framed pictures, representing the ■•Pilgrim Fathers" 
on their way to this country, the "Baptism of 
Pocohontas," the " Surrender of Cornwallis," and 
other incidents in American history. Higher up 




on the walls is a frescoed circle, illustrative of cer- building. I take my companion up another bronze 

tain epochs in our country's career. At the top is staircase, and bring him into the President's room 

the canopy, where the visitor sees General Wash- at its head. From this I take him into the Senate 

ington and the thirteen States, with an angel blow- lobby and Marble Room, where he may notice, as 

ing a horn. I presume it stands for Fame. In the in the President's room, the indefinite rnultiplica- 

a Bmm -A 

1 1 ''-"Sfetsnr Q W?s^%=k 


groups surrounding this central assembly, he may 
discover figures resembling other men well known 
in the annals of the nation. 

In another moment we are in the old Hall of 
Representatives, with its many statues and its two 
mosaic portraits. I confess that I am not very 
fond of all the works of art about the Capitol. I 
shall take the liberty to pass them by in silence. 
I ought, however, to praise the figure of History, 
standing in her marble chariot, with her book of 
record before her. One of the interesting features 
of the room is its "echoes"; by putting his ear 
to the wall, the listener can hear everything that 
is said by the people passing through the Hall, 
even to a faint whisper. Another amusing pas- 
time is to try to discover faces and figures in the 
breccia columns. 

A few steps farther, and we enter the present 
Hall of Representatives, containing a few pictures. 
Without pausing to look at them, we pass into the 
lobby and reception-room, and find the walls dec- 
orated with the portraits of the many Speakers 
who have, in the past, presided over the House. 

Leaving the House lobby near the Speaker's 
room, and descending the bronze staircase, we pass 
around through the long colonnade on the floor 
below, and soon reach a circular room filled with 
the pillars that support the Rotunda. Having 
passed this, we reach the Senate wing of the 

tion of rooms, caused by the reflections of the 
opposite mirrors. 

Again going into the lobby, we turn to the left 
and look into the Vice-President's room. An 
object of interest here is the little looking-glass 
purchased many years ago, — a purchase de- 
nounced by the senators as an act of reckless 
extravagance ! 

Turning to the right, we step from the lobby 


into the Senate Chamber. It contains no paint- 
ings, but if my companion is like the average 
sight-seer he will mount the steps and sit in the 



chair of the Vice-President, and handle the his- 
toric little gavel that has descended with the memo- 
ries of former times to the senators of to-day. He 
may also look at the little snuff-boxes, not quite so 
old, but playing as important a part in the tradi- 
tionary lore of that body. Near Captain Bassett's 
chair is another box, containing an instrument 
that puts in motion the "automatic pages." This 
is a new contrivance of electric wires, after the 
fashion of the fire and messenger alarms, and 
saves the human pages much labor in " hunting 
up " senators on a call of the yeas and nays, or 
when their presence is wanted for anything else. 
The wires connect with all the committee-rooms 
and other places frequented by the law-makers ; 
and by one, two, three, or four turns of the 
machine, a tinkle is set up all over the Senate 
wing, signaling to the senators exactly what is 
being done. If curious, the stranger may wan- 
der into the cloak-rooms and imagine how the 
law-makers make themselves comfortable when 
a tedious talker is occupying the floor in the 

Making our exit by way of the eastern door, 
and taking a glance into the Reception Room, 
and perhaps walking out to the bronze doors, 
we turn to the right and pause at the steps lead- 
ing to the ladies' gallery. Midway up the stairs, 
is a representation of the battle on Lake Erie, 
and on the floor above there are some other 

Walking around the gallery corridor, and notic- 
ing upon the doors the sections reserved for the ex- 
ecutive officers, diplomatic corps, and families of 
congressmen, we descend the staircase opposite 
to that we have just ascended. 

At the foot of the steps, and in the same relative 
position as the statue of Franklin, is a statue of 
John Hancock, whose bold signature on the 
Declaration of Independence is familiar to the 

Half-way up these stairs is a representation (or 
an alleged representation) of the battle of Chapul- 
tepec. Of this painting I do not know what to 
say. It is mystifying to most spectators. No one 
knows what the different soldiers are about. They 
seem to be going in all directions. There are 
several horsemen in the battle, but one always 
struck my fancy. He is on a fiery steed, and is 
apparently leading some gallant and desperate 
charge. It used to trouble me, when a page, for 
I was very anxious to know what general it repre- 
sented. I never knew until recently. During the 
last special session of the Senate, the galleries 
were almost daily cleared for the transaction of 
executive business, guards being stationed at the 
steps to prevent persons from entering. One day 


a little fat man came into this place, and, with a 
grand gesture and a funny brogue, called the at- 
tention of the guards to the picture. 

"Do you see that man on that horse'?" he 
asked, pointing to the gallant charger. " Well, / 
am that man ! " 

Saying which he slapped himself forcibly on his 
chest, and pompously disappeared. He repeated 
this performance on several succeeding days, but 
did not give his name — simply saying : 

"/am that man ! " 

Continuing the descent of the stairs to the sub- 
terranean regions, I show my friend the coal cel- 
lars and other dismal places where the pages 
delighted to roam, and also the heating and ven- 
tilating apparatus, with its donkey engines and 
huge fan that sends air up to the Senate. And on 
the way up I stop at a dark little room and hint 
vaguely at its contents. I can not enter, because 
Captain Bassett has the key. But I have been in 
it in times gone by, and know some of its mys- 
teries. There is perhaps more valuable bric-a-brac 
in it than in all the rest of the entire building — 
the exclusive property of the Captain. What he 
particularly prizes is one of the old lamps used 





when the Senate met in its old 
quarters. The Chamber was then 
lighted in the style of the eight- 
eenth century. Lamps were fast- 
ened to the desks of the Vice-Presi- 
dent and Secretary ; and on each 
senator's desk rested a candle. 
These candles were of sufficient 
length to burn through half a 
night, but at the opening of a door 
a draught would extinguish them. 
Captain Bassett was one of the two 
pages then employed, and he had 
to be constantly answering such 
calls as, '■ Here, page, light my 
candle ! " and " Here, page, snuff 
my candle ! " from such men as 
Daniel Webster and Henry Clay. 

Returning to the principal story, 
we pass around the south side of 
the Senate to the central corridor, 
observing opposite the main en- 
trance to the Senate a venerable 
clock that, being too tall for the 
shelf, has stood many years on the 

A short distance down the corri- 
dor we reach the old Senate Cham- 
ber, which, as I have told you in 
a previous chapter, is now occu- 
pied by the Supreme Court. 

Passing onward, just before we 
come to the Rotunda, is a door 
which I open to show the way to 
the Dome. The ascent is very 
complicated. We first wind around 
some iron steps, then enter a cold 
stone passage and go up other 
steps, and finally emerge upon an 
iron walk, in the open air, from 
which the pages used to clamber 
out upon the roof. As a visitor is 
not permitted to do this, however, 
we continue the journey up some 
more winding iron steps, and finally 
reach a door where we pause for a 
moment to catch breath. Grasp- 
ing the iron railing, we assist our- 
selves to the top of a steep flight, 
• and reach a grateful landing where, 
for the first time, we look down into 
the Rotunda. We may also go out- 
side and wander on the " battle- 

But we have not yet reached 
our destination. Up, up, we go, 
the stairs becoming steeper and 




steeper. Stopping occasionally to rest and to 
view the huge braces and iron net-work that sup- 
port the Dome, we attain the gallery. We amuse 
ourselves for a while by looking down from the 
immense height upon the people on the floor, and 
also try the whispering properties of the place. 
Then we continue our climb, pass above the can- 
opy, and, as further ascent is barred by the gate 
leading to the chandelier which lights the Dome, 
and immediately beneath the Goddess of Liberty, 
we go out upon the balcony. This is the pinna- 
cle ! I have described a view from it on a summer 
night. But it is as grand by day as it is entranc- 
ing by the light of the moon and stars. 

From this extreme height, it is proper to go to 
the extreme depth ; so I hurry the young tourist 
down and take him to a spot hundreds of feet 

If our young friend should wish to see the laws 
made by Congress since the beginning of the Gov- 
ernment (in round numbers, fifteen thousand), I 
may take him into the Law Library, and show him 
the statutes-at-large. If he should wish to judge 
of the amount of discussion expended by the legis- 
lators during a century, I should escort him to the 
Senate Library, and point out hundreds of heavy 
Journals, Globes, and Records. If he should wish 
more information as to the performances of the law- 
makers, I have only to show him the Document 
Rooms, and study the amazed look upon his 
countenance as he gazes about him. Room after 
room is literally filled with the bills and other 
measures that have been introduced. 

Next in order, our young friend may well visit 
the Library of Congress, with its myriad of books. 


below. This is the crypt, designed for the sepul- 
ture of the remains of Washington — a small oblong 
vault two stories below the Rotunda floor, and 
exactly in the center of the building. For more 
than half a century a light was kept burning in 
this place, guarded by an officer. This custom was 
not abandoned until after the Civil War, when the 
office of Keeper of the Crypt was finally abolished. 

Vol. XIII.— 15. 

There he will find works of sage, humorist, novel- 
ist, scientist, and poet, all mixed up in grand 
confusion, — books of archaeology, philosophy, and 
travels, fiction, music, poetry, and statistics, — all 
helter-skelter, here, there, and everywhere, — on 
the floors, on the railings, on the steps, and in the 
windows, wherever the ingenuity of the librarian 
could make room for them to lodge in the ex- 




tensive domain over which he presides. And yet, 
with all his economy, he has not space to hold 
them all. They clog the steps of the tourist 
on the floor below, they obstruct the passage 


of the officials when traversing the galleries 
above. In his desperation, the librarian has cried 
out to Congress to give him a decent reposi- 
tory for his books ; but Congress has, for years, 
done nothing but smile at his perplexity. Crowded 
from shelf to floor, from floor to wall, he has 
finally been driven to the very dungeons of the 

building ! And there, in the circular space sur- 
rounding the crypt, in a part of the room devoted 
to broken statuary and the night councils of the 
pages, he has had to seek temporary shelter for 
the books ; and there, within a short 
while, unless Congress shall speedily 
come to his relief, this series of mine, 
having now been nearly finished, is 
perhaps destined to be entombed ! 

Such are a few of the wonders of 
the Capitol. I leave the young tour- 
ist to find the other points of in- 
terest by himself. 

If he has entered the city by 
way of the Potomac, the 
first object that met his 
view, as the 
boat, having 
passed Mount 
Vernon, turned 
the bend in the 
river, was the 
Monument in 
the distance ; 
the second was 
the Capitol. 
Leaving it in 
the evening by 
the railway, as 
the cars pass 
the eastern 
branch and the 
bend of the 
road, those 
same two ob- 
jects are the 
last in sight. 

And as he 
travels rapid- 
ly away, and 
watches the 
dark form of 
the Goddess of 
Liberty — yet 
more like a 
beautiful star in its transit than an eclipsing plan- 
et — sweep slowly and gracefully across the face 
of the spotless and loftier shaft beyond, he will, if 
a sensitive and reflective young fellow, carry with 
him a pleasant remembrance of the Federal city 
he has visited, and will realize, better than before, 
the grandeur of the authority centered there. 

A^ 1 ^ 

(To be tPfitiiiucd.) 





By Palmer Cox. 

One evening, when the snow lay white 

On level plain and mountain height, 

The Brownies mustered, one and all, 

In answer to a special call. 

All clustered in a ring they stood 

Within the shelter of the wood, 

While earnest faces brighter grew 

At thought of enterprises new. 

Said one, " It seems that all the rage, 

With human kind of every age, 

Is on toboggans swift to slide 

Down steepest hill or mountain side. 

Our plans at once we must prepare, 

And try, ourselves, that pleasure rare. 

We '11 not depend on other hands 
To satisfy these new demands ; 
The merchants' wares we '11 let alone 
And make toboggans of our own ; 
A lumber-yard some miles from here 
Has seasoned lumber all the year. 

We might enough toboggans find 

In town, perhaps, of every kind, 

If some one chanced to know where they 

Awaiting sale are stowed away." 

Another spoke, " Within us lies 

The power to make our own supplies ; 

There pine and cedar may be found, 
Like ancient castles, piled around. 
Some boards are thick and some are thin, 
But all will bend like sheets of tin. 
At once we '11 hasten to the spot, 
And, though a fence surrounds the lot, 




We '11 skirmish round and persevere, 
And gain an entrance, never fear." 

This brought a smile to every face, 
For Brownies love to climb, and race, 
And undertake such work as will 

With large selection well content 
Soon under heavy loads they bent. 
It chanced to be a windy night, 
Which made their labor far from light ; 
But, though a heavy tax was laid 
On strength and patience, undismayed 


Bring into play their wondrous skill 
The pointers on the dial plate 
Could hardly mark a later date, 
Before they scampered o 'er the miles 
That brought them to the lumber piles. 
And then they clambered, crept, and squeezed 
And gained admittance where they please 
For other ways than builders show 
To scale a wall the Brownies know. 

Some sought for birch, and some for pine, 
And some for cedar, soft and fine. 

They worked their way by hook or crook, 
And reached at last a sheltered nook ; 
Then lively work the crowd began 
To make toboggans true to plan. 
The force was large, the rogues had skill, 
And hands were willing — better still ; 
So here a twist, and there a bend, 
Soon brought their labors to an end. 
Without the aid of steam or glue, 
They curved them like a war canoe ; 
No little forethought some displayed, 
But wisely double-enders made, 

1 886. ] 



That should they turn, as turn they might, 
They 'd keep the downward course aright ; 
They fashioned some for three or four, 
And some to carry eight or more, 
While some were made to take a crowd 
And room for half the band allowed. 

Before the middle watch of night, 
The Brownies sought the mountain height. 
And down the steepest grade it showed 
The band in wild procession rode ; 
Some lay at length, some found a seat : 
Some bravely stood on bracing feet ; 
But trouble, as we understand, 
Oft moves with pleasure, hand in hand. 
And even Brownies were not free 
From evil snag or stubborn tree 
That split toboggans like a quill, 
And scattered riders down the hill. 
With pitch and toss and plunge they 

Some skimmed the drifts, some tunneled 

Then out across the frozen plain 
At dizzy speed they shot amain, 
Through splintered rails and flying gates 
Of half a dozen large estates ; 
Until it seemed that ocean wide 
Alone could check the fearful ride. 

And thus until the stars had waned, 
The sport of coasting was maintained. 
Then, while they sought with lively race, 
In deeper woods a hiding-place, 
How strange," said one, "we never tried 
Till now the wild toboggan ride ! 
But since we 've proved the pleasure fine 
That 's found upon the steep incline, 

We '11 often muster on the height, 
And make the most of every night, 
Until the rains of spring descend 
And bring such pleasures to an end. 

Mk mk/ I 

23O FOR VERY LIT T L E FOLK. [January, 


May could not see why her dol-ly daugh-ter should feel ill. She had 
been well e-nough the night be-fore, but that mqrn-ing, Mam-ma May said 
she found her dar-ling in a high fe-ver, with a bad head-ache. May took 
her up, be-cause Co-ra-lie nev-er could bear to stay in bed ; and she gave 
her a dose of wa-ter, out of a bot-tle, to cure the fe-ver. Then she made 
some gin-ger-bread pills, and gave Co-ra-lie a pill ev-er-y hour through the 
day. But when night came, the doll was no bet-ter, and Mam-ma May said 
to her moth-er, " I must sit up all night ! The dear child must not be left 
a-lone." " Why not put her crib on the ta-ble be-side your bed," said her 
moth-er. "You would not take cold then." "Yes, I sup-pose that would 
do," said May. " But of course I shall not sleep a wink, Mam-ma ! " " Oh 
no! " said her moth-er. "Of course you will not." So May put Co-ra-lie 
to bed, and tucked her up nice-ly, and then she set the crib close to her 
own bed, and put on one of Aunt Sue's night-caps, be-cause nurses al-ways 
wore them : and then she went to bed her-self. She tried hard to keep 
a-wake. But by and by her eyes hurt her, and though she was not a bit 
sleep-y, she shut them for a few min-utes, just to rest them. Pret-ty soon 
she heard a lit-tle noise, and thought she saw — what do you think? she 
thought she saw Co-ra-lie out of bed, and slid-ino- down the le°f of the 
ta-ble. May thought that the doll was walk-ing in her sleep. " I must 
not wake her too quick-ly ! " she said to her-self, " for she might go 
cra-zy." But Co-ra-lie real-ly looked very wide a-wake. She ran 
straight to the lit-tle drawer where Mam-ma May kept her good-ies, and 
she took out the box of can-dy that Un-cle Jack had sent a few days be- 
fore, and then she be-gan to eat as fast as she could. It did not seem as if 
a doll could eat so fast. Then May was an-gry. " You wick-ed doll ! " she 
cried. "You greed-y, bad child! No won-der you are sick! I 'm sure 
you ought to be ! " — Just then in came her moth-er with a lamp, to see what 
was the mat-ter. " Mam-ma," cried May, " I know now why Co-ra-lie is 
sick ! She has been eat-ing my can-dy!" "What do you mean, dear?" 
said her moth-er. " Here is poor Co-ra-lie in bed, fast a-sleep. And where 
is your can-dy ? I thought you had put it a-way." May looked and looked, 
and, sure enough, there was Co-ra-lie in bed : and no can-dy was to be seen. 
" Well, Mam-ma," said May, at last, " it is real-ly ver-y strange. I just shut 
my eyes for a few min-utes to rest them. You know I told you, Mam-ma, 
that I should not sleep a wink." " Yes," said her moth-er ; " I know you did." 








^ ISSUES ^~v&->'' '--'■• a- 




Ah, but my birds were happy last year, on a day 
late in the bright December ! That dear Little 
School-ma'am had told the children of the red 
school-house about some good little German kinder 
who made dainty sheaves of full wheat, and, tying 
them to a high pole, set it up as a Christmas feast 
for the birds, — and how the birds from every 
quarter soon plunged into it with delight, and in 
their turn chirped a happy Christmas carol for the 

Well, hearing about all this, what did my blessed 
children of the red school-house do, when Christ- 
mas was near, but set up in the very snow a fine 
affair like a May-pole, excepting that it held out 
long chains of golden wheat — And that was the 
secret of the chirping and chattering and flutters 
of delight, among my birds. 

And now for this item about 


Dear Jack : I send 5*011 this account from a 
newspaper which may interest your boys and girls. 
Yours truly, C. E. 

" Some imaginative and wonderfully learned 
German scholars tell us that every snownake is in- 
habited by happy little beings, who begin their 
existence, hold their revels, live long lives of hap- 
piness and delight, die and are buried, all during 
the descent of the snownake from the world of 
clouds to the solid land. These scholars also tell 
us that every square foot of air possesses from twelve 
to fifteen million of more or less perfect little be- 
ings, and that at every ordinary breath we destroy 
a million, more or less, of these happy lives. The 
sigh of a healthy lover is supposed to swallow up 
about fourteen million. They insist that the dust, 
which will, as all know, accumulate in the most 
secure and secret places, is merely the remains of 
millions and billions of these little beinsjs who 

have died of old age. All this, of course, is mere 
guess-work. But I do know that the snow in some 
parts of the world is thickly inhabited. I have 
seen new snow in Idaho black with little insects. 
People there call them snow-fleas. They are as 
lively as possible, and will darken your footprints, 
walk as fast as you may. They are found only on 
the high mountains, and only in very fresh and 
very deep snow. They, of course, do not annoy 
you in any way. They are infinitely smaller than 
the ordinary flea, but they are not a whit less 
lively in their locomotion." 


If you don't believe it, dearly beloved, just read 
this letter that has come all the way from South 

Para, October 2ist, 1885. 

Dear Jack : I wonder whether you have ever had a letter from 
Brazil or the Amazon River. 

I am a little girl who lives at Para, near the great river, and in a 
country house near the town. We sometimes have many strange 
and pretty birds and animals in our garden — parrots, gtiaras, large 
turtles, sloths, and monkeys. Once we had a tame deer that was 
just like a watch-dog, only instead of barking he would run against 
people with his horns. So he had to be fastened, like any savage 

We also had two peacocks that slept at night in the branches of a 
high tree. The bats pestered them greatly. When the peacocks 
came down for their meal, very late in the morning, they looked 
tired and weak. So ever after, a night-lamp was hung in the tree 
to frighten the bats away. 

I will tell you a story I once heard of what happened to Mr. 
Agassiz when he was here, many years ago. He used to put his 
"specimens," — as he called his beetles, insects, and other little scien- 
tific findings, — into a barrel of rum in order to preserve them. One 
day Mr. Agassiz received a present of a very nice little monkey, 
and told his black servant to take it home. He, supposing it was 
for the same purpose as were the "specimens," dumped it also 
into the barrel. Mr. A. was indeed very sorry and vexed about it. 

You know we have two seasons here — the wet and the dry. In 
the wet season everything gets damp and moldy. We even have to 
bake the matches in the oven, or else they wont light quickly. Now 
I must say £ood-bye. 

Your little friend and admirer, Amy E. S. 


Last month the Little School-ma'am told us 
about the pastures of Norway and now she sends 
you another message concerning the carjole pecul- 
iar to that cold, queer • antry. The name car- 
jole sounds like some sort of humorous bird ; but 
the little lady says it is simply the national and 
peculiar carriage of Norway. The carjole is drawn 
by one small and always very sober horse, and it 
is just like a spoon on wheels. You sit in the 
bowl, and it is a tight fit. Your legs stretch out 
straight along the handle, as though you were sit- 
ting in the bottom of a ca- e. The end of the 
handle is turned up to brace -ur feet, and there 
you are, filling the inside fu ,r ou either may 
drive yourself or be driven b; ... child, perched 

somehow on the outside. Tl 9fe ess is made up 
largely of rope, and the carjole. . % ling to the Lit- 
tle School-ma'am, looks as if it \ made of frag- 
ments saved from Noah's ark, or p ted out of the 
wreck of Pharaoh's chariots. Butt 8 whole affair 
is strong, and takes you safely to your destination. 


y -33 


Dear Jack : Of course all your boys and girls 
know what the cactus is — a green, grotesque-look- 
ing plant, almost covered with sharp spines and 
bearing a most gorgeous flower; but I am sure 
they do not know all of the uses to which the cac- 
tus can be put, nor do I believe that the most in- 
genious guesses could come near to the truth. 

Take the prickly pear, for example. From one 
species is obtained a beverage called colinche, a 
liquid used in water-color painting, and a color- 
ing matter to make candy look attractive. Then r- 
it is used for feeding certain tiny in- 
sects which are afterward converted 
into a brilliant dye called cochi- ^ 
neal. It is used for mak- s- 
ing hedges — hedges so 
dreadful that General 
Fremont and his 
brave soldiers nev- 
er dared to try to 
go through them. 

It is a native 
of America, t 
but it has 
been taken / - 
to Europe f . - ' 
and Africa, |, 
and now hi 
grows in j : 
the latter I 
country in 
great pro- 
fusion. It 
grows so well 
in dry, sandy 
soil that it has 
proved a great 

thick leaves covered with spines as sharp as need- 
les ! But, wait a moment. The leaves of the par- 
ticular kind of cactus so used are not very prickly, 
and, moreover, they are not carried about, but are 
left growing on the plant, which stands at the foot 
of the front steps. 

When a lady calls she has only to draw out one 
of those ever ready hat pins, with which ladies are 
always provided, and with the sharp point scratch 
her name on the glossy, green surface of a leaf. 
A gentleman generally uses the point of his pen- 


.'■''. _,> boon to 

:: -. the Kaf- 

I firs, who 

often, in 

most live on the prickly 

,-ittle will greedily eat the 

'rich, it simply revels in 

.o-leaf bristling with sharp 

oddest use of the cactus pre- 
i South Africa, where its leaves 
the purpose of visiting-cards. 
Fancy carrying about in your coat-pocket a lot of 

seasons of drought 
fruit, while hungr 
leaves. As for 
dainty morsels c 
spines. s 

But, after all, 
vails in Cape To 
are made to s 

k n i f e . 
The lines 
turn sil- 
very white 
and remain 
on the leaf, 
clear and dis- 
tinct, for years 
and years. On 
New Year's Day, 
these vegetable cards 
are especially conve- 
nient, and ladies who 
wish to keep the calls of 
that day apart from those of 
other days, appropriate a branch of 
the cactus to that purpose. 
One gentleman in Cape Town has a cactus plant 
which is nearly fifteen feet high. Its great thick 
leaves are almost all in use as visiting-cards, so 
that he has a complete and lasting record of his 
visitors. It cannot be said that this practice adds 
to the beauty of the plant, but then it is oddity and 
not beauty that is desired in such cases. 

There is one cactus, not so plentiful as that just 
described, which is of a very accommodating char- 
acter. It not only has smooth leaves, but the spines 
it has are so large and stiff that they can be used 
as pens for writing on the leaves. 

"Yours truly, J. R. C. 






Our older readers are no doubt familiar, through the newspapers, 
with the leading incidents in the career of that brave and philan- 
thropic English General, Charles George Gordon, whose advent- 
urous and helpful life came to a close in the Soudan, last winter. 
Lord Tennyson has sent to the readers of St. Nicholas, with the 
above personal greeting in his own handwriting, an announcement 
of a proposed charitable institution in London, which is to be estab- 
lished as a memorial of General Gordon. 

Among the many philanthropic thoughts that animated the British 
hero was a desire to help, in some practical way, the poor boys 
of overcrowded London. And the committee having the memorial 
in charge wisely concluded that in no better manner could they 
honor his memory and perpetuate his unselfish devotion than in 
founding an institution that should rescue English boys of the 
poorer classes from the criminal influences amid which so many 
grow to manhood in that vast metropolis. 

Lord Tennyson, to whom General Gordon had often expressed 
his benevolent wish, Archdeacon Farrar, and other distinguished 
Englishmen whose names are familiar on both sides of the sea, have 
interested themselves in the project, and a committee has been 
appointed to perfect and execute the plan which has grown out of 
General Gordon's own desire. 

It is designed that the Gordon Boys' Home should accommodate 
about 500 boys, between the ages of fourteen and eighteen, and give 
them a training that shall prepare them for a self-supporting and help- 
ful career. It is at this period of life that growing boys really need 
help. Too old to continue in the institutions designed for the care of 
children, and too young to engage in the real struggle of existence, 

they are more exposed to temptation and more readily led into the 
downward path than at any other time of life. Desiring to extend 
to such lads a helping hand, the Gordon Boys* Home appeals for 
aid from all those who, in various parts of the world, have learned 
to regard with admiration the life of General Gordon, and who wish 
to bring his example home to those he worked so hard to benefit. 
The Committee's circular states that subscriptions may be sent to 
the Lord Mayor of London at the Mansion House, or to Mr. George 
C. Russell, Secretary of the Gordon Boys' Home, 20 Cockspur street, 
London, S. W., from whom all desired information may be obtained. 

This announcement is of special interest to our young readers 
in England. But General Gordon's memory belongs to all the 
English-speaking race, and there are many Americans who share 
the British admiration of the heroic soldier — among them, our own 
poet, Whittier, who expressed a desire that the Laureate should 
write a poem on Gordon. This wish came to the knowledge of Lord 
Tennyson, and he sent to Mr. Whittier the following note containing 
lines which the English poet had written for the Gordon monument 
in Westminster Abbey : 

Dear Mr. Whittier: Your request has been forwarded to me, 
and I herein send you an epitaph for Gordon in our Westminster 
Abbey — that is, for his cenotaph : 

" Warrior of God, man's friend, not here below, 

But somewhere dead far in the waste Soudan, — 
Thou livest in all hearts, for all men know 

This earth hath borne no simpler, nobler man." 

With best wishes, yours very faithfully, Tennyson. 


Qt'EEEC, November 7, 1885. 

Mv Dear St. Nicholas: Your interesting and useful magazine 
pleases me very much. I have been reading over the letters from 
the little girls and boys in your Letter-Box, and I thought I might 
contribute one also. I notice that most of them are written by 
little American children, but I am a little Canadian girl, ten years 
of age, and live in the old-fashioned city of Quebec, which I know 
all your people think a very funny place ; some call it the "old Cu- 
riosity Shop." I don't see anything so very queer about it, but I 
suppose that is because I have lived here all my life. I know we 
have some very jolly times in it, especially in the winter. We gen- 
erally have snow about this time of year, but this season we had snow 
on the 31st of October; it was about three inches deep, but did not 
remain, and it has been raining now for a week. 1 suppose you 
have heard of our winter sports, — tobogganing, snow-shoeing, skat- 
ing, etc. The one I enjoy most is sliding, and we have some grand 
hills here. Our winters are almost too long, though ; and they are so 
cold ! The snow also is so deep that I have great trouble in getting 
to school, and sometimes have to put on my snow-shoes to help me 
along. Last year the snow in some of our narrow streets reached 
such a height, that in walking along we looked into the second-story 
windows of the houses, and indeed with some of the small ones we 
could almost have seen down the chimney, which would have been 
very convenient for you, St. Nicholas. 

I have a great deal more to say, but in case you should think my 

letler worth putting in your magazine, I would not like to take up 
too much of your valuable space, so I will bid you good-bye for the 
present. Yours very truly, Belle. 

Alexandria, Va., November 10, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas : You were given to me last Christmas, as a 
present, and though I received many nice presents, you give me 
more pleasure than all. I am always so glad when you come, for I 
love to read your grand stories, and I think thelittle "Brownies" 
are the cutest little creatures, and especially the industrious Irish- 
man and the lazy " Dude." I was so sorry when "Driven Back to 
Eden " was finished. I was reading in the History of New York 
that when the Dutch first settled that place, some sailed over in a 
ship called the " Goede Vrouiv" on the prow of which was carved 
an image of St. Nicholas ; so that was the first time St. Nicholas 
ever visited America, and I know he has, from that time to this, 
given many little girls and boys very much pleasure, and although 
he used to come only at Christmas, we are glad that he still has his 
headquarters at New York, and comes once a month instead of once 
a year. I live in the quaint old city of Alexandria, Virginia, in sight 
of the church in which General Washington worshiped, and I have 
frequently sat in his pew, and have visited " Mt. Vernon," his home. 
Your devoted reader, Llcia. 




Pierre, D. T. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl eleven years old, and 
live out on a claim in Dakota. 1 look forward very eagerly for the 
coming of your bright pretty face every month, and enjoy every- 
thing there is to read, from trie first to the last page. 

I lived in the " Black Hills" two years. I keep wondering all the 
time how Mr. Palmer Cox ever thought of anything so funny as 
the pictures of those "Brownies," all so different and so many of 
them. We have a hearty laugh o\'er every picture. 

I have a pony to ride. 

Papa caught me two "jack-rabbits"; they grow to be immense 
fellows : their ears are almost as long as mules'. They are white ill 
the winter and gray in summer. 

This is my first letter to a paper of any kind. I hope it will not 
prove tiresome. With the best wishes, from your loving reader, 

Sibyl M. Sammis. 

Brooklyn, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My papa has a friend who is an artist, and 
he came to see us the other evening and told us that he had been 
" studying up old costumes," and then he made a funny drawing for 
us children. He said it showed how " children used to dress three 
hundred years ago, when good Queen Bess was on the throne of 
England." We were all delighted with the drawing, and he gave 

Brooklyn, October. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for five years, and en- 
joy reading your stories very much. I have been away thirteen 
weeks this summer, and I have had a delightful time. Just before 
I came home we wenl nutting, and gathered twenty-eight quarts of 
hickory-nuts and about six quarts of butternuts. I enjoyed gather- 
ing the nuts very much, as I never had been nutting before. 

I am very fond of drawing, and one day, as I was taking a walk 
in the woods, I found a turtle and I drew him. I have also drawn 
five or six pictures of my brother's dog. 

Sincerely yours, Louisiana W. 

Lawrenceville, Tioga Co., Pa., November, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy about six years old. I 
take the St. Nicholas, and have taken it a long time. I can read 
the most of it, and was very much delighted with the two stories, 
"His One Fault" and "Driven Back to Eden." I read the 
"Patient Cat" to many visitors. "The Coast-Guard" I have 
learned to recite, as well as many others. In cold weather, I have 
the most dangerous kind of croup, and am very much confined to 
the house. So dear "St. Nick" is a most welcome visitor. I 
have a papa and mamma, and Cousin Julie lives with me. I can- 

it to us. The other day we asked him if we mightn't send it to St. 
Nicholas, for other children to see, and he said we might. So 
here it is. Isn't it funny? Mamma said the children's dresses 
were almost as stiff as the furniture. I think so too. 

Your loving reader, Effie H. 

London, October 26, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas : It was asked by William S. Torrance, in 
the October number of St. Nicholas, which legs the tadpole has 
first. The fore-legs come first. I had one that I caught and kept 
in a pickle-jar. I watched the tail gradually disappear. The change 
took from three weeks to a month. I had a friend who tried to 
keep some in a tin pail, but they always died. Since the August 
number was issued, I have traveled from my home in San Francisco 
to London, but I still take St. Nicholas with the same interest. I 
remain, your constant reader, Mamie MacD. 

not write well enough, so Grandmamma writes for me. I live in a 
pretty old town in the hills of northern Pennsylvania, and am very 
happy here, where I remain, your constant reader and loving friend, 

Jamie P. 

Washington, D. C, October 25, 1885. 

Dear St. Nicholas: 1 take you every month and always enjoy 
reading your interesting stories. Your November number came the 
other day, and I was surprised to see such a different cover on you, 
but I like it much better than the old one. Then, too, it will be very nice 
to look for the sign of the Zodiac even,' month. I have read your first 
chapter of" Little Lord Fauntleroy," and 1 think it is very interesting 
indeed. It does not take mc long to read you, and then when I finish 
I wish it was time for your next number to come. 

I must not write any more, for fear of making my letter too long 
for your valuable space. Your affectionate reader, Mary R. C. 




South Orange, November, 18S5. 
Dear St. Nicholas : We are two girls, twelve and thirteen years 
old. We shall not tell you which is twelve or which is thirteen, but shall 
leave you to guess. We like the St. Nicholas very much, and think 
it is the nicest magazine we have ever read. We are very glad Miss 
Alcott has begun to write again, as we like her stories very much. 

Last month's number was very interesting ; and we are anxiously 
expecting the Christmas number. 

Yours truly, Nellie N. and Bessie F. 

Baltimore, August 
Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you of a little trick that your 
readers may like to know. It is to tell how many spots are on dice 
without looking at them. A pair of dice being thrown, tell the 
thrower to count the spots on one of them, and add five to the sum, 
then to multiply the result by five, and to add to theproduct the num- 
ber of spots on the remaining die. This being done, request the 
thrower to name the amount, and after subtracting twenty-five from 
it, the remaining number will consist of two figures, which will be the 
same as those on the dice. Yours truly, " Osceola." 

Toledo, Ohio. 

Dear St. Nicholas: We are three cousins, and we are visiting 
our Grandma — at least two of us are. One of us lives here, and he 
is the one who. takes you. We saw a letter in your August number 
where three wrote in one letter, and we are going to do the same. 

I am George; I am going to do the writing because I take you. 
I would write with ink, only Grandma wont let me. I like " His 
One Fault" better than any other story; I always read it first. I 
began to take you last year, and I think you are just splendid. I have 
one pet, it is a parrot ; he says lots of things ; his name is Jock. 

I am Amos; I like you so well that Mamma is going to take you 
for my brother Art and me. I have no pets, but I have a bicycle ; I 
am just learning to ride it, so I get a great many falls. 

I am Art ; I don't read any stories at all; I am too young, but 
Grandma reads all the letters, poetry, and Brownies to me. 1 have 
found the dude and policeman in all the pictures. I live in Detroit, 
so does Amos. We hope you will print this ; it has taken us two 
hours to write it. George (9), Amos (3), Art {4). 

Toledo, Ohio. 

De/ir St. Nicholas: My brother George, and my cousins, 
Amos and Art, wrote to you about two weeks ago, and are waiting 
impatiently for the next St. Nicholas. I live 'way outin thecounlry, 
and as no little girls live near us, and the boys will not play with a girl, 
I have a pretty lonesome time of it; but I should be still more lone- 
some if my dear St. Nicholas did not come the twenty-sixth of every 
month. It is the only thing I have to read, as it is the only child's 
book in the house. Now, what do the children think of that, who 
have lots and lots of books of their own ? We began to take you last 
September : you were my birthday present, and this year you are 
to be George's. My favorite stories are "Little Britomartis " and 
" Driven Back to Eden." I am glad school has commenced, but 
the boys are not ; boys are not the least bit like girls, are they ? 

Yesterday was my birthday ; I received a cover for my St. 
Nicholases, a ring, some note-paper, and a handkerchief. 

I remain your friend, Urania. 

Pembroke, November 3, 1885. 

Dear St. Nicholas: I do not think any of your little readers 
look forward to the coming of St. Nicholas with more pleasure 
than 1 do. I am eleven years old, and go to school every day. I 
have a great number of dolls, with which I amuse myself. I am 
counting the days till the snow comes, for I am anxious to go out 
sliding. I have two sleighs, one called " Go Ahead," and the 
other, "Lucy Long"; the former is the best, and can beat any 
sleigh in town. 

Now, dear St. Nicholas, I think I have written enough, so I will 
close my letter with best wishes for the coming season. 

Hortie O'M. 

Milwaukee, November 5, 1885. 
Dear St. Nicholas: My Uncle Jim sends you to me every 
year. I am seven years old, and I have a bank ; and if Uncle Jim 
does not send you to me this Christmas, I am going to take three 
dollars out of my bank and send it to you myself, because I love you 
so much. Harry H. 

Bristol, October 4, 1S85. 

My Dear St. Nicholas: I am a little girl ten years old, with 
one brother, papa, and mamma. In summer we go to our cottage 
at the seaside. I want to tell you about a spider I saw down there. 
One day my cousin and friend and I went out on the rocks, and we 
saw a spider with a lot of fuzzy things all over his back. I stepped 
on him, and what do you think the fuzzy things were ? They were 
little bits of spiders about as big as a pin-head. If I bad known 
that they were baby spiders taking a ride on their mother's back, I 
don't think I should have put my foot on them. 

We have taken St. Nicholas for seven years and have them all 
bound, and we read them more than any of our other books. Hop- 
ing that I shall always have St. Nicholas, I am, 

Your constant reader, Antoinette N . 

Ash Canon, Huachuca Mts., Arizona. 

Dear St. Nicholas: We are two friends who have come out 
here to live. Our winter home is in Tombstone, a town about thirty 
miles from here. There are live-oaks all over the place, and we 
think it ought to be called Oak Canon instead of Ash. 
, We had quite an excitement, last spring, about the Indians (the 
Apache- tribe), who came out of their reservation and were killing 
people all through New Mexico and Arizona; but there were twelve 
men here, so we were not much afraid, and most of the danger is 
past now. 

The only things we are much afraid of now are rattlesnakes, taran- 
tulas, centipedes, and scorpions ; some of each of them have been 
found here since we came. 

All the girls on the ranch have been poisoned by the poison oak- 
vine. The poison comes out on the face and bands ; they swell up 
and a sort of rash spreads over them ; it is anything but pleasant. 

We have a great many pets, — six dogs, four cats, five pigeons, 
a canary-bird, a burro (donkey), and ever so many cows and horses 
and chickens. 

We must now say good-bye, as we are afraid this letter will be too 
long, and we want it to be published, as it is the first we have ever 
written to a magazine. Penelope and Dorothy. 

Tarrytown, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I want to tell you about a cat that we 
know. Her name is Daisy, and she is a Maltese. Her master has 
taught her to stand on a table, about two and a half yards off from 
him, while in one hand he holds a hoop covered with tissue paper, 
through which she jumps, and lands on his shoulder. Jumping 
through two rings — one inside the other — and through a very small 
one just large enough to let her body go through, are some of her 
tricks. Daisy can also swing, jump over her master's hands, turn 
somersaults and walk the tightrope. Of course, after each trick 
her master gives her a piece of meat. 

Your constant reader, E. F. G. 

Dear St. Nicholas: We are two little boys who live at Helena, 
Montana. We spent last summer at Nahant, Massachusetts, with 
Uncle Martin and Auntie Anna. We had never seen the ocean 
till we came there, and Uncle Martin made up a verse about us; 
perhaps you would like to hear it. 

"Cornelius and Alfred came out from the West 
All on a bright summer's day, 
To sec the great ocean, so bright and so blue, 
To read the St. Nick, and make hay." 

Aunt Anna says the poetry is trash, hut we like it immensely ! 

We found a very funny flower that grows in Montana, and we do 
not know the name. Perhaps you or some of your readers can tell 
us, as we have often seen questions answered in your dear Letter- 
box. It had six long, dark-red petals, with a bright yellow center; 
the stamens were rather short with large heads ; and the stem was 
long and thin. 

We think the St. Nicholas is the very best book there is, and 
" His One Fault " perfectly fine. 

Please thank Mr. Trowbridge for us, and do print our letter in the 
Letter-Box, as it is the first one we 've sent you. 

Your sincere readers, Cornelius N . 

Alfred Simpson N . 

St. Petersburg, Sept. 20, 1885. 

Dear St. Nicholas: America is my native country, but just 
now I am traveling in Europe with my parents, brother, and two 
friends; and I thought you might like to hear from one of your little 
readers in the far-off city of St. Petersburg. 

One day we all took a drosky ride, and as a drosky accommo- 
dates but one passenger, we each had a separate one except brother 



Bob and myself, who rode together. We looked very funny, no doubt, 
for the drivers kepi in line almost all the time. We drove past the 
Emperor's winter palace, which contains five hundred rooms. It is 
an immense orange-covered building, with statues on the top all 
the way around. Since then I have been through one hundred and 
eighty of these rooms, and I do nut think it is nearly so fine as the 
summer palace of Katherine II., at TsarkoV Selo, which is a spa- 
cious building, profusely gilded on the inside, and was formerly 
decorated on the outside with gold leaf, which is now almost entirely 
replaced by bronze. In one room the chandeliers are made of pure 
crystal, and the walls of another room are entirely covered with 
amber, while the floor is mahogany inlaid with mother-of-pearl. 
The church, which is under the same roof, is ornamented with lapis 
lazuli. In the palace is a room elegantly fitted up for a gymnasium. 
Among other things is a highly polished, inclined plane, upon which 
the imperial children coasted on bits of carpet. The guide allowed 
Rob and myself to slide down five or six times. 

I think the little Russians must have a hard time learning their 
alphabet, as it contains thirty-six instead of twenty-six letters. Rob 
and I are able to spell out some of the signs as we pass by. 

I must now close, hoping soon to see a number of your highly 
prized magazine. Your loving friend, Mabel S. Duncan. 

; a little puzzle-story that may in- 

Dear St. Nicholas : I 
terest your readers : 

A Dutchman purchased a farm in Minnesota. As he could not 
speak English, he hired John Jones to act as his interpreter, as well 
as to assist him with farm work. 

One day during harvest, the Dutchman, who was at work in the 
field, sent word home to his wife that he had hired six extra men, 
and that she must provide dinner for them. To do this it was neces- 
sary that she should purchase provisions from the neighboring town. 
But John Jones was at work in the field, and neither she nor her 
son Hans could speak a word of English. 

In this dilemma, her eyes fell upon the Bible of John Jones, which 
was on the table beside of her own Dutch Bible, and the following 
plan suggested itself. Finding the names of the articles she needed 
in her own Bible, she marked the corresponding passages in the 
English Bible. 

Little Hans harnessed the horse, and going to town with the two 
Bibles in his wagon, he had no difficulty in making known his wants. 
He purchased from the grocer something mentioned in (1) Psalms, 
lxxxi. 16; (2) Isaiah, vii. 22, (3) 1 Samuel, xvii. 18. From the baker 

he bought (4) Psalms, exxxii. 15; (5) 1 Kings, xvii. 13. From the 
butcher he bought (6) Luke, xv. 23; (7) Genesis, xxii. 8. 

His mother had also marked a passage (S) Hebrews, xiii. 22. Where 
did he go? 

One of the cooking utensils had been broken, and, to replace it, a 
word had been marked in (9) Leviticus, vii. 9. Some other things 
had to be replaced, and Hans's mother marked the last word in (10) 
Judges, v. 25, and a word in (n) Genesis, xl. 11. Hans also found 
marked the last three words in (12) Exodus, xxxix. 37. In case this 
could not be had, he was to buy something mentioned in (13) Mat- 
thew, v. 15, which would answer the same purpose. 

After doing his errands, Hans returned to the grocer's for his par- 
cels, and feeling warm and thirsty, he pointed to (14) 2 Samuel, 
xxiii. 15. The grocer pointed to (15) 1 Timothy, v. 23. This Hans 
refused ; but he was grateful when a glass of something mentioned 
in (16) Hebrews, v. 12 was handed t<> him. To express his grati- 
tude he pointed to one word in (17) 1 Thessalonians, v. 18, and 
then, turning to <i8( Ruth, n". 10, he marked the latter half of the 

The grocer, pleased with the lad's intelligence, gave him a hand- 
fid of the two articles last named in (19) Genesis, xliii. n, and some 
of the fruit mentioned in (20) Jeremiah, xxiv. 2. 

Hans was so delighted with his success that on his return, when 
his mother sent him to call the men to dinner, Hans wished to carry 
the Bible with him, tint he might point to thiee words in (21) John, 
xxi. 12. This his mother would not allow him to do, although he 
gave as his reason (22) Exodus, iv. 10. Reference to the last word in 
(23) Exodus, iv. 2 brought him to instant obedience, and he meekly 
pointed to the parenthesis in (24) Exodus, ix. 28. G. L. v. 

We must thank the young friends named in the following list for 
pleasant letters : 

Fannie S. Ludlow, Bunnie Steele, Margaret Candon, H. M. 
Rochester, Flossie M. Keith, Evelyn, Adele Kinzie, Annie B. K., 
Bella Emra, Phebe Kelley, Mildred W. Strong, Louis W. M. , Ralph 
M. Fletcher, Willie Heyde, Myrtle H. Foster, E. M. Cope, Herman 
Nelson Steele, Elsie Rose Clark, Beatrice P. K. , Irene M. Hayes, 
Elsie B., Alice Lynde, " MaudeS.," Laura L., Jeannette M., Lloyd 
R. Blyn, Mary Higley, Jessie Ludlow, Violet Campbell, Cammie 
Reyburn, H. Clarke, Harry Stearns, Helen Mann, Georgia Bond, 
F. W. S., Amelia McKellogg, G. Reese Satterlee, Louis T. Wil- 
son, Charlie H. Robertson, Alice Cary, E. Burk, Katrina B. Ely, 
Ethel L. S., Helen Smith. 

' ~ 





A Happy New Year to our Mineralogists. 

Our wish is equally cordial that all our other " iste " may have a 
happy year, but we mention mineralogists in particular, because 
they are peculiarly fortunate in the prospect of the assistance of 
Professor W. O. Crosby of the Boston Society of Natural History. 
In reference to our appeal for aid in this department, Professor 
Crosby writes : 

" My college work is well started now, and I have decided to 
give the work in your departments of mineralogy and geology a 
trial. Before undertaking a series of lessons, I desire to become 
more familiar with the Association and its methods of work; and I 
propose now, if you think it expedient, merely to answer questions 
and identify specimens ; /. e.— to give assistance and instruction to 
individuals only, until I am more fully initiated." 

Professor Crosby will need no introduction to the members of the 
A. A., for his Commo?i Mmerals and Rocks, and his valuable col- 
lections of minerals have already made his name familiar and welcome 
to us all. All wishing to avail themselves of this offer may address 
him, care of Boston Society of Natural History, cor. Berkeley and 
Boylston sts. , Boston, Mass. Stamps must, of course, be inclosed for 
reply, and if specimens are sent for identification, the postage for 
their return must also be inclosed. 

There is also good news for our ornithologists and mammalogists, 
for Mr. A. W. Butler, Secretary of the Brookville Society cf Natural 
History, writes : 

"Anything I can do in the way of answering questions, etc., re- 
garding Ornithology and Mammalogy, I will do." 

Address Mr. Amos W. Butler, Brookville, Ind. 

2 3 8 

THE A G A S S I Z A S S O C I A T I O N . 


Award of a Prize. 

The prize of fifty labeled specimens of shells offered by Mr. Harry 
E. Dore, for best collection of Mollusca, has been awarded to Mr. G. 
S. Marston, of De Pere, Wis., President of Chapter 679. Mr. Dore 
writes: "He showed much interest in gathering so many species, 
and deserves credit." 

The Next Convention. 

At our very delightful convention in Philadelphia, the opinion 
was expressed that similar meetings should be held not oftener than 
once in two years. In accordance with that view, no efforts have 
been made in that direction in 1885. But we must be thinking 
about 1886. Many Western Chapters were unable to be represented 
at Philadelphia on account of the distance, and there is a strong 
feeling that this year we ought to hold our convention in such 
a place as to give them a chance. The indications are that the 
Association may receive an invitation from Iowa, and there are 
many reasons which would make such an invitation extremely hard 
to resist, 

A Kind Offer. 

Many of our young friends will avail themselves of the following 
offer, which no one can fail to appreciate. 

The Astor Library, New York City. 
My son and I are both engaged in the Astor Library, and shall be 
happy to assist any Chapter with reference to books. Our library 
has a very fine collection of books on all brandies of study pursued by 
the A. A. , and if we can be of any service, you are at liberty to use 
the name of the undersigned for any such purpose. 


One of the Librarians of the Astor Library. 

Reports from Chaffers and Friends. 

386, Pine City, Minn. Everything progressing finely. I took 
my collection of insects to the Pine County Fair, and took first pre- 
mium. — Ernest L. Stephan, Sec. 

1, Lenox, Mass. I have seen a young bird hatch from the egg. 
It was in a hanging nest about four feet from the ground, on a small 
oak. The egg cracked around the large end, and a piece came off 
like a lid. — Eugene H, Home, Cor. Mem,, Stratham, N. H. 

[This observation is quite correct. The young chick docs not pick 
a hole through the shell, as is commonly supposed, nor burst it, but 
using a sharp point on the upper mandible as a cutter, it turus its 
head around nearly in a circle, and cuts one end 0/ the shell off "" like 
a lid." The hard, sharp point afterward 'falls off.~\ 

605, East Orange, N. J. During the past eighteen months Ch. 605 
has increased from a membership of five, until we now have twenty- 
four active and eight honorary members. We have a balance of 
twenty dollars in our treasury. We have started a small library, the 
society appropriating fifteen dollars and the individual members 
contributing books. So you see we are not dead, by any means. — 
Loren. L. Hopkins, Pres. ; Walter W. Jackson, Secretary. 

569, Ludingtou, Mich. We start anew this fall. We have twelve 
boys between the ages of twelve and fifteen, and more to join We 
have also four grown members. We study geology and mineralogy, 
and with the help of some ladies have raised fifteen dollars, 
with which to get a cabinet and perhaps some books. We are 
making collections of minerals, shells, woods, corals, etc. We 
found some very curious lightning-tubes on a sand-hill by the lake. 
They were caused by the lightning striking some weeds, and fusing 
the sand around them. They must have been a yard in length, but 
very brittle. The deeper they were in the earth, the smaller they 
were. — Mrs. A. E. Elsworth. 

[ The technical name is Fulgurite, ] 

3635 Locust Street, Philadelphia, Pa., October 27, '85. 
I have to report both satisfaction and regret for my summer work. 
I did not accomplish near as much as I had hoped to, but have no 
cause for complaint. I collected a number of alcoholic specimens of 
marine invertebrates, among which were some very fine stalked bar- 
nacles. The New Jersey coast is not nil that can be desired for Bi- 
ological work, though it is quite rich in molluscan life. For some 
months past I have been pursuing a course in Vegetable Biology, 
and my two weeks' vacation enabled me to make considerable prog- 
ress; the mosses particularly struck my fancy, and afforded many 
exquisite objects for the microscope. At present I am studying in 
my room two species of moss, corn, earth-worms, and some water- 
insects. One thing which, if it turns out well, will give me more 
satisfaction than any of my summer efforts is the formation of a new 
Chapter in Doylestown, Pa. I think if members of the A. A. would 

try to organize a Chapter in any place that contains 7ione, the 
A. A. would spread much faster than its present good rate of 
growth, and would amply repay any trouble spent in such "mis- 
sionary " work. 

In one cell of a mud-wasp's nest, I found twenty plump, fresh 
spiders, besides the larva; in another, a few dried spiders and no 
trace of egg or larva ; did the mother forget to lay an egg, or did one 
of the spiders come to, and eat it and the olhers ? Who will enlighten 
us on this point V — Wm. E. McHcnry. 

158, Davenport, lo-wa. Our Chapter has held meetings every 
week but one since our last report, which have been well attended. 
At present we have sixteen regular, three corresponding and nine 
honorary members. During the summer the society had a delight- 
ful camp-out near the city, while individual members took longer 
journeys, one making a canoe trip down the Maquoketa river in this 
State, while two others came down the lower part, of the Wapsipini- 
con river in a skiff. The former of these rivers flows through a 
deep valley formed in Niagara limestone ; the cliffs in many places 
rising almost vertically from the water to a height of almost two hun- 
dred feet. We have published a monthly paper, the Haivlceye Ob- 
server. The Iowa Assembly of the A. A. meets here next August. 

— Edw. K. Putnam, Cor. Sec. 

777, Seneca Falls, N. Y. We are thoroughly organized and meet 
every Wednesday night. We boys have built a club-house on one 
of the members' land, which is eight feet wide, ten feet long, and 
seven feet high. We have a stove, so we can keep warm. We have 
a shelf for our cabinets in one end. We have not got our cabinet 
in yet, but it consists of collections of birds' eggs and preserved 
snakes. We have a snake five feet seven inches long which is stuffed. 
Some of the boys have a collection of bugs. We think we can 
get along all right. We have ten members; we take two papers, 
and are getting along very well. Wc all like the study. Some 
weeks we have to write about some bird or some animal, and 
whoever fails to write is charged a fee of two cents; and for ab- 
sence a fee of three cents more is charged. We held a meeting last 
night, and a motion was made that I make out my report and send 
you. One of the boys has a badge which cost one dollar and a half, 
and we think of sending and getting one. As soon as our cabinets 
are in we are going to invite our friends to see them. — Lester G. 
Seigfred, Sec. 

687, Adrian, Mich. As most of our members were away from 
home the past summer, we did not do very much work, although 
some of us caught some very fine specimens, and a great many of 
them under the electric light. We made an exhibit at the County 
Fair some weeks ago, as you will see by the inclosed clippings, 
taken from the daily papers. We took twelve dollars in premiums, 
and our expenses were very light — only for the making of two 
show-cases, our membership ticket, and some glass that was broken. 
We have had our rooms with the Adrian Scientific Society for the 
past year, but we have rented rooms by ourselves, and move this 
week. We have had several applications for membership, among 
which are some from ladies. Alter we get our rooms in shnpe, we shall 
admit them. We expect to take up some course of study this winter, 
but what it will be has not yet been decided, We have purchased 
Packard's Guide, and find it invaluable in the study of entomology. 
Several members have other valuable books, which they have kindly 

Before closing I will try and giveyou a short description of our ex- 
hibit at the fair. We had a space 24 x 14 feet. Along the front we 
had our show-cases, two of them filled with insects, and the other 
with birds' eggs. There were over 3000 specimens of insects, among 
which was the Hercules Beetle, and a grasshopper over six inches 
long. There were over 500 birds' eggs, among which was a set of 
five Long-eared Owl and a set of Annas humming-bird and nest; a 
fine collection of sea curiosities; alcoholic specimens; an alligator 
over six feet long; and many minerals and curiosities ot all sorts. 
Considerable laughter was caused by a pig's-tail whistle. I inclose 
a photo of part of the exhibit; it is not very good, as the light was 
very bad, and it was only my second attempt at photography. We 
are in very good shape now, and when we get settled in our new 
rooms we hope to get down to some sound work. With our best 
wishes to yourself and the A. A., I am very truly yours, — Edw. 
J. Stebbins, Sec. 


Birds' eggs and minerals, for eggs. — E. A. Burlingame, 337 Broad 
St., Providence, R. I. 

Insects. A large collection. Correspondence desired. — Samuel 
F. Gross, Jr., Box 177, Morristown, Pa. 

Cecropia, Promethea, and other cocoons, for Io, Luna, and other 
desirable pupa; or butterflies. — James L. Mitchell, Jr., Grand 
Hotel, Indianapolis, Ind. 

Birds' eggs, blown through one smooth hole in side, sets or single, 
for same. — Frank W. Wentworth, 1161 Chapet street, New Haven, 

Rhode Island Lcpidoptera. — Lucian Sharpe, Jr., 56 Angell St., 
Providence, R. I. 

Microscopic objects, for Lepidoptera and Coleoptera. Send lists. 

— T. Mills Clark, 117 East 17th St., New York. 

Califomian ferns, for those of other localities or countries No 
poor or mounted specimens desired. Write first, stating what you 



2 39 

have. Address Miss M. E. Parsons, P. O. Box 674, San Rafael, 
Marin Co., California. 

Lava, Sandwich Island shells, petrified wood, sulphur quartz, 
rattlesnake rattles, gold quartz and mica, for any good specimens of 
minerals, fossils, or shells. — Miss Gertrude Wheeler, Sec. of Ch. A. 
of Berkeley, Alameda Co., California. 

555. Olympia, Washington Ter. , P. O. Box 23. Determined 
phanerogams of Oregon and Washington Ter., determined Puget 
Sound clams, Pacific coast wood-mosses, diatoms, crude, cleaned, 
and mounted, for determined species only. Specific offers requested. 
— Robert Blankenship, Sec. 

Fossil Cyathophyllum, Dictophyton and " petrified moss," mag- 
netic iron ore, and silver ore. Chapters desiring any of these may 
address W. H. Church, Bath, N. Y., Sec. No. 645. 



897 Charlestown, Mass 

New Chapters. 
No. of Members. 

Southport, Conn 

Birmingham, Ala. (A) 

San Francisco, Cal 

Hartford, Conn. (F) . . 


902 Mobile, Ala. (A) . 


George K. Sargent, 50 Russell 

Warren G. Waterman. 
W. C. Watts. 
7 . . Harvey Loy, 73^ Pine St. 
6. .W. H. Gilbert, 68 WoosterSt., 

Hartford, Conn. 
6. .Louis Tucker, N. E. Cor. 
Church and Conception Sts. 



Covington, Ky. (A) 

Williamsport, Pa. (A) . 

Philadelphia (H) 

Washington, Conn. (A). 
Meriden, Iowa (A) 
Toledo, Ohio 

6.. Lloyd Stephenson, 8t6 Scott 

5 . . W. G. Wallace, 1 1 West 4 th 

7. .Jus. B. Fite, 1517 N. 22c! St. 
15. .Miss Bessie B. Baker. 
6..G. D. Weintz. 
6. .Irving Squire, 115 Washington 



203 Framingham, Mass. (A). 
882 Arlington, Mass 

James C. Valentine. 
. F. E. Stanton. (Members 
removed. ) 

A Reminder. 

Please rememberthat, in accordance with our new plan, proposed 
in November issue, reports will be due during the first week in Jan- 
uary, from Chapters 1 - 100 inclusive. 

All are invited to join our Association. 

Address all communications intended for this department to the 
President of the A. A., 

Mr. Harlan H. Ballard, 

Principal of Lenox Academy, Lenox, Mass. 



1. More dainty. 2. To accustom. 3. Solid bodies with six equal 
square sides. 4. To raise. 5. Reposes. 


The central word of each diamond is the name of a famous yacht, 
and the objects pictured around the boats form the answers to the 
following : 

I. 1. A letter from Europe. 2. An abbreviation for a month. 
3. A weapon. 4. A victorious yacht. 5. Barbarians. 6. A verb. 

7. A letter from Spain. II. 1. A letter from Portugal. 2. A 
couch. 3. An extra dividend. 4. A fine yacht. 5. Clouded with 
dust. 6. An inclosure. 7. A letter from France. 

A. W. S. AND H. W. 


Across : 1. A city in Massachusetts. 2. A feminine name. 3. 
To mend. 4. The thin part of milk. 5. An insurgent. 

Downward : 1. A consonant. 2. A verb. 3. To lay over. 4. 
Ages. 5. A bishop's cap. 6. 43,560 square feet. 7. Part of a 
wheel. 8. Myself. 9. A consonant. "ANN o'tator." 


I 'm a word of two words, on that pray depend; 

My first is one's comrade, his helper, or friend ; 

My second's a victor, — 'tis first and 'tis last, 

'T is high and 't is low, — 't is with confidence cast; 

The king, queen, and courtier must bow down and yield, 

As it vanquishes often the best in the field. 

Of all my six letters, the first two, you '11 see, 

Stand for one of the States of our famous country. 

My third, fourth, fifth, sixth, is a fabric so fine, 

That patience and skill to produce it combine. 

My second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth, you will find, 

Can reduce any lady to stoutness inclined. 

It is white, it is black, — has its friends and its foes, 

Whether worn at the waist or quite near to the toes. 

In my whole the great monarch relinquishes life; 

'T is the scene of much gayety, splendor, or strife; 

The abode of a prince o'er a lordly domain ; 

Come, read me my riddle, — the answer is plain. 


I am composed of one hundred and thirteen letters, and form a 
verse of four lines. 

My 104-53-61-16-95-23 is talented. My 74-9S-32-S2-4 is one of 
imperfect understanding. My 39-86-44 is very small. My 27-77- 
112-30-35-68-63 is proceeding by degrees. My 7 1-10-41 -1-66-8 is 
a sickness. My 106-49-80-37-13 is part of a rake. My 101-18-57- 
47 is a garden vegetable. My 25-20-90-84-6 is a tenth part. My 
92-110-60 is part of a needle. My 50-65-75-S8-91-113 is one or the 
other. My 55-5-22-99-76 are certain useful animals. My 79-97- 
108 is to compete. My 43-102-51-15-94-9-58-81 is to bear down 
by impudence. My 42-62-11-111-30 is attracts. My 17-67-89-33- 
105-85-46 is a plant bearing beautiful flowers, which grows abun- 
dantly in Scotland. My 72-59-93-29-21-3-107-73 is asperity. My 
96-48-78-38-26 is the god of eloquence among the ancient Egyp- 
tians. My 83-7-31-52-70 is tendency. My 56-34-24-109 is the 
fore part of a ship. My 19-S7-100-40-69 is two. My 2-45-103-28 
is a small pointed piece of iron. My 14-64-54-12 is a Christian 
name common in Germany. gilisert forest. 





fjrm^njri 1 7j rjrJTm 




Each of the eight objects numbered may be described by a word 
of five letters. When rightly guessed, and the names written one 
below the other, in the order here given, the central letters reading 
downward will spell the name of a church-festival celebrated in the 
early part of January. s. R. 


From what poem by J. G. Whittierare the lines taken from which 

the followin 

S Pi 

' is made ? 

Het vewa si ribaekng no eht hesor, — 
Teh cohe dafgin rofm het miche, — 
Gaani teh haswod omevht ore 

Eth aild lapte fo mite. henry 



From 1 to 2, a large country ; from 2 to 6, certain parts of a car- 
riage ; from 5 to 6, the sort of palms which bears dates ; from 1 to 
5, proclaimed; from 3 to 4, a common plant; from 4 to 8, taking 
leave; from 7 to 8, scattering; from 3 to 7, dexterity; from 1 to 3, 
affirms ; from 2 to 4, to shun ; from 6 to 8, to pain acutely ; from 5 to 
7, small coins. 

Included Word-square: i. Clever. 2. Pertaining to the cheek. 
3. Single. 4. To rove at large. 5. Plentiful in forests. 



My first is in water, but not in land; 

My second in foot, but not in hand; 

My third is in lark but not in wren ; 

My fourth is in five, but not in ten ; 

My fifth, and last, in eagle you '11 see — 

My whole, a general brave was he. 

Who died in the moment of victory. percv v. 


Letter Circles. The Pilgrims Landed — Our Forefathers' 
Day. Turn-over. Here-unto. Ear-ring. Plat-form. Inter- 
oceanic. Lace-rate. Gods-end. Right-fully. Inn-ate. Mat- 
tress. Samp-hire. List-en. Ai-red. None-such. Dan-dies. 
Err-ant. Dock-yard. 

Cross-word Enigma. Christmas. 

Transpositions. Christmas. 1. cared, raCed. 2. there, etHer. 
3. charm, maRch. 4. miles, smile. 5. siren, riSen. 6. caution, 
aucTion. 7. timid, diMit. 8. dam, mAd. 9. sages, gaSes. 

Fan Puzzle. From 1 to 6, stress; 2 to 6, weaves; 3 to 6, inters ; 
4 to 6, stings ; 5 to 6, shotes; 6 to 7, section. 

Novel Acrostic Second row, Christmas; fourth row, mistle- 
toe. Cross-words. 1. sCaMp. 2. cHaln. 3. gRiSt. 4. glrTh. 
5. pSaLm. 6. sTrEw. 7. sMi'l'h. 8. bArOn. 9. aSpEn. 

Across ; 

Ai r<>ss : 

. Air. 3. Al- 

Em. 3. Nag. 


S. 2. Al. 

Patchwork. Upper Pyramid. Across: 
lay. 4. Steeped. Right-hand. Across : 1 

4. Tied. 5. Ode. 6. Is. 7. D. l.ower- 

2. Towed. 3. Dew. 4. R. Left-band. 

3. Age. 4. Mile. 5. Lop. 6. We. 7. R 
" Time " Rebus. 

Little of all we value here 

Wakes on the mom of its hundredth year 

Without both looking and feeling queer. 

In fact, there 's nothing that keeps its youth, 

So far as I know, but a tree and truth. 

" The One Hoss Shay 
Word-squares, i. Rural. 2. Uvula. 3. Rumor. 4. A! 

5. Large. 

The names of those who send solutions are printed in the second number after that in which the puzzles appear. Answers should be 
addressed to St. Nicholas "Riddle-box," care of The Century Co., 33 East Seventeenth street. New York City. 

Answers to all the Puzzles in the November Number were received, before November 20, from Paul Reese — Maude E. 
Palmer — " B. L. Z. Bub, No. 1 " — " San Anselmo Valley" — " Betsy Troiwood " — J. W. Islip. 

Answers to Puzzles in the November Number were received, before November 20, from Marion S. Dumont, 2 — "Doggy 
and Susan," 1 — H. A. Ck., 4 — " Jack Frost," 1 — Ethel Morton, 1 — Lucia C. Bradley, 2 — Oscar, Charlie, Ben, and Jack, 2 — Nichols 
and Simpson, 1 — Ned L. Mitchell, 2 — Fannie L. Armington, 1 — Fannie and Norma, 1 — Fannie M. Condict, 1 — Celia Loeb, 1 — Edith 
Van Wart, 2 — Ella Martin, 2 — J. Rowland Hughes, 1 — " Bibby Walton," 3 — Henry Loveman, 1 — R. Earle Olwine, 1 — " Poor Rich- 
ard," Chicago, 6 — Fannie Keller, 2 — George S. Seymour, 5 — " Pez," 4 — Maud and W. Rodney, 1 — Charlie D. Mason. 3 — Lilly Mac- 
don aid, 1 — Effie K. Tarboys, 6 — "Pepper and Maria," 7 — W. S. H., 1 — "Locust Dale Folks," 6 — "Summit," 3 — Lottie R. 
Coggeshall, 2 — Lulu May, 9 — H. A. C, 6 — Eddie Loos, 2 — " S. Army," 3 — Maud Guild, 1 — Mary M. McLean, 2 — Alta F., 1 — 
Edward S. Oliver, 3- — "Emma Gination " and L. L., 3 — Percy Alfred Varinn, 5 — Maria and "Fly-catcher," 3 — Blanche Dixon, 2 — 
Adelaide R. Husted, 4 — "Jumbo" and "Sambo," 2 — Freddie F. Bowen, 2 — Harry Hayden, 1 — " Multum in Parvo," 4 — Kitlie H. 
Loper, 2 — Louise Joynes, 2 — M. G. H., 3 — M. E. Benson, 2 — M. W. B,, 1 — Lillian E. Roberts, 1 — Lizzie Wainman, 2 — Edith L. 
and Jennie S. Govan, 1 — Bessie C. Pike, 2 — Gertrude Meyer, 1 — Hesse D. Boylston, 3 — Mary E. Peck, 2 — Martha Helen Grant, 4 — 
Ella Francie Eight, 4 — Maggie Elizabeth Rose, 4 — Eva Bear, 4 — Odie G. Turner, 4 — Mary A. Etheridge, 4 — Nina M. C. Pooth, 4 — 
Maggie M. Dobbs, 4 — Lizzie Glueck, 4 — Irene P. Turner, 4 — Harry Brown Price, 4 — Sam Bissell, 3 — Jennie and Florence, 4 — 
H. Clarke, 1 — Ethel M. Bennett, 1 — Lucy W. Mitchell, 1 — Julian A. Keeler, 2 — James K. Houston, Jr., 4 — "Elfin John," 1 — 
"Nip and Tuck," 2 — " Judith," 9 — Hilda M. Kempe, 2 — Violet, Nina, and Ethel, 3 — Florence R. Greer, 1 — Belle B. Murdock, 
1 — Henri, 3 — Melzina L. Smith, 2 — Raymond B., 2 — E. I. Schultz, 1 — William Chase, 1 — Edith Stanley, 1 — Elliott H. Seward, 5 — 
Avis and Grace Stanton Devenport, 5 — M. L. Joynes, 2 — Carey and Alex. Melville, 9 — Clark Holbrook, 3 — No Name, Philadelphia, 
3 — Daisy and Mable, 7 — Lottie Hahn, 2 — Llewellyn, John, and Mamma, 3 — Mary B., 4 — Sara and Zara, 8 — " Oulagiskit," 5 — 
Eleanor and Maude Peart, 6 — Edith L. Young, 4 — " Gingerbread," 3 — James E. Brown, 3 — " B. L. Z. Bub, No. 1," 9 — Dulcima, 
2_M. W. M., 2 — Annie C. McLeod, 1 — Clara E. McLeod, r. 



Vol. XIII. 

FEBRUARY, 1886. 

No. 4. 

[Copyright, 1886, by The CENTURY CO.; 


More than five hundred years ago the good 
people of Florence were much troubled because 
of the many poor homeless children in their city. 
There were but few foundling asylums in those 
days, and the poor little waifs and strays perished 
miserably or grew up to be beggars and thieves, 
excepting now and then when they were found in 
time and cared for by kind men and women. And 
so it was decided that there ought to be a home, 
where all could be taken in and saved from their 
misery. And no sooner was the good work thought 
of than every one wished to do something to help 
it. Leonardo Aretino, one of the greatest schol- 
ars of that day, spoke so earnestly and eloquently 
about it, that Giovanni de' Medici, the gonfalo- 
niere of justice, or chief magistrate of the city, took 
the matter into his own hands, and commanded that 
an asylum should be built. One of the most pow- 
erful Florentine associations of workmen, known as 
the guild of silk, agreed to manage the work. 
A famous architect furnished the designs for it, 
and a great artist made it beautiful with his dec- 

orations. It is about these that I wish especially 
to tell you. And to do so, I must begin with a 
few words about the artist and his family. 

There lived in Florence, in the fifteenth century, 
"a sculptor whose name was Luca della Robbia. 
He was the son of a Florentine. He was taught, 
when a child, to read and write, and then, while 
he was still young, he was apprenticed to one of 
the goldsmiths whose work was famous throughout 
Europe. But, like many other young Florentines 
who have begun life ashe did, he did not keep very 
long at this work, but became a sculptor. He 
cared so much for his work — as much as most 
boys of his age care for play — that he would 
keep at it all night long. Sometimes he would 
be very cold, for Florence, with high mountains 
all around it, is cold enough in winter ; and even 
in summer-time a sculptor's studio, full of wet clay, 
as it must always be, is chilly and damp. But 
Luca bore it bravely, only stopping now and then 
to kindle a fire of shavings with which to warm 
his half-frozen feet. He lived for a while in 






Rimini, but it was at this time that artists in Flo- 
rence were working with their whole hearts and 
souls to make their new cathedral beautiful. There 
never were people who loved their city as the 
Florentines loved theirs, and Luca hurried back, 
that he too might have a share in the great deco- 
rations. And very lovely were his contributions, 
for he represented on a marble bas-relief for the 
organ-screen a choir of boys singing and playing 
on many musical instruments, and so life-like are 
they, that as you look at them you almost forget 
they are marble, and wait to hear their music. 

But it is by another kind of work that Luca 
della Robbia is best known. For he longed, in 
his great ambition, to do what no one else had 
done ; and there were Florentine sculptors as 
great as he, and even greater. And so he soon 
began to work in clay alone, which he glazed and 
colored, and in this way he made beautiful things 
which every one wanted as soon as they were 
seen. And orders from churches and convents. 

from palaces and hospitals, poured in upon him ; 
for no one knew the secret of this kind of work 
but himself. And, by and by, he had more com- 
missions than he could attend to, and so he called 
to him his brothers — they all were sculptors — 
and he told them the secret, and they and their 
sons worked with him. And one of the nephews of 
the great Luca, known as Andrea, became almost 
as famous as his uncle. And so they went on work- 
ing and sending their lovely reliefs to every part of 
Italy for many years. But the family died out 
with Luca's grandchildren, and as none of them 
had ever revealed their secret, no one after their 
death could work in majolica, or glazed clay, as 
they had done. 

It was with this majolica that Andrea, the great 
Luca's nephew, decorated the asylum for the poor 
children — the Spedale degl' Innocenti, as it was 
called. On the outer side of the building, toward 
the broad piazza by which it stands, is an arcade. 
On this he set up a row of medallions, each of which 
represents a baby in swaddling-clothes. The medal- 
lions are colored in blue, but the pretty little babies 
are white ; and, though there are many of them, no 
two are alike. Some have curling hair tumbling 
over their foreheads ; some have the short straight 
locks you so often see on real babies ; and some 
have hardly any hair at all. Here is one who 
looks as if he were laughing outright ; here another 
who is half pouting ; and here still another, who 
is smiling in that gentle, quiet way in which babies 
so often smile in their sleep, when their mothers 
or nurses will tell you the angels are whispering to 
them. It was a pretty idea to put these little 
figures where every one passing can see them, 
and where they seem like suppliants for the chil- 
dren within, whose smiles and pouts too often 
change to tears and wailing, and whose needs are 

If you go under the arcade and into the square 
around which the asylum is built, you will see over 
a door on your left another bas-relief by the same 
great master. It is a picture of the Annunciation, 
that hour when Mary, the mother of the Saviour, 
was told of the coming of the Holy Child ; it is a 
subject which the old artists never grew tired of 
representing, either on canvas, or in marble or clay. 
But nowhere can you find one more beautiful than 
this of Andrea della Robbia ; and around the group, 
like a border, is a semicircle of cherubs' heads. Such 
demure little angels as some of them are, with 
hair neatly parted in the middle, and a resigned 
or attentive expression on their fresh baby faces ! 
But others look so mischievous and roguish that 
you feel sure, if they were to come to life and 
descend from their high place, they would play 
many merry, fairy-like pranks. 





The hospital grew richer as time went on, until are made servants or are taught a trade. But 

to-day it supports more than seven thousand poor they all are under the care of the charity founded 

friendless children. But they do not all live in the by the good Florentines so many years ago ; and 

old building, with its beautiful decorations. Boys, when they are in trouble they go back to the old 

when they are old enough, are sent out into the building designed by Brunelleschi and decorated 

country that they may work in the fields. Girls by Andrea della Robbia, with the beautiful little 





figures, called nowadays the Delia Robbia Bambini 
(or babies). 

And so, year after year children are brought in. 
to grow up and go out into the great world, and to 
have their places taken by more poor little shelter- 
less ones, of whom there are in Florence, as in 
every other large city, always too many. But, 
while foundlings have come and gone, the pretty 

white babies have never moved from their blue 
beds over the arcade, and they still smile and pout 
and laugh at the passer-by, whether the rain pours 
down upon them, or whether the sun shines over 
the wide piazza, even as they did in the days long 
ago before the last of the Delia Robbias had died 
and their beautiful secret of making their special 
kind of glazed majolica had been lost forever. 

Elizabeth Robins Pennell. 

' '■■'( '-' , : >~- 




Out in the sunshine golden, 

But oh, my heart's beloved, 

The pomegranates glow 

My little love, my dear, 

With waxen cups vermilion ; 

It seems like dreary winter 

The roses are in blow; 

Because you are not here ! 

Betwixt the dusk magnolias, 

I see the red-birds' wings, 

You have my heart, my darling, 

And in the swaying live-oaks 

Up in the land of cold; 

A merry mocker sings. 

And with you is the summer, 

My Rose, my six-year-old. 

The orange-trees are budded ; 

I feel the winter weather, 

The jasmines hang with gold; 

For I am sixty-nine. 

And 'neath the solemn pine-trees, 

Oh, come and bring the summer, 

Sand-lilies white unfold. 

My dearest Valentine ! 

Florida, February, 1886. 





By J. O. Roorbach. 

About thirty years ago, I was stranded by the 
severe winter weather, which put a stop to naviga- 
tion, at the old army station of Green Bay, now a 
flourishing city in the great State of Wisconsin, 
at the mouth of the Fox River, — at the south- 
western extremity of a long arm of Lake Michigan. 
Society in that far-off army post, though cut off 
by the long winter from the outside world, was 
very delightful in those days, and the good times I 
had, both indoors and out, during those snow-bound 
months, I have never forgotten. 

But what I wish especially to describe for the 
boy readers of St. Nicholas is a curious Indian 
custom that I discovered in the course of my 
winter rambles. I had frequently noticed, while 
booming along the ice road on Fox River be- 
hind one of the fast little French ponies, a curious 
lot of black dots on the ice, in the retired nooks 
and coves along the farther shore. "What are 
they ? " I asked ; and the invariable reply was : 
" They are Indians fishing." This puzzled me still 
more, and I resolved to investigate. So one day I 
crossed the frozen river, and, approaching one of 
those mysterious black dots, found it to be appar- 
ently only a bundle in a blanket, scarcely large 
enough to contain a human form. But, looking 
closer, I could see, first from one bundle and then 
from another, the quick motion of a pole, or spear- 
handle, bobbing up and down. A word, a touch, 
even a gentle push, only called out a grunt in re- 
ply, but at last one bundle did stretch itself into 
a bright young Indian brave with wondering and 
wonderful eyes peering at me from under a mop of 
black and glossy hair. A little tobacco, a little 
pantomime, and a little broken English succeeded 
in making him understand that I wished to know 
how he carried on his fishing under that funny 

Then I saw it all. Seated, Turk fashion, on 
the border of his blanket, which he could thus 
draw up so as to entirely envelop himself in it. he 
was completely in the dark, so far as the daylight 
was concerned ; and, thus enshrouded, he was 
hovering over a round hole in the ice, about eigh- 
teen inches in diameter. A small tripod of birch 
sticks erected over the hole helped to hold up 
the blanket and steady a spear, which, with a deli- 
cate handle nine or ten feet long, was held in the 
right hand, the tines resting on the edge of the hole, 
and the end of the pole sticking through an open- 
ing in the blanket above. From the other hand, 

dropped into the water a string on the end of which 
was a rude wooden decoy-fish, small enough to 
represent bait to the unsuspecting perch or pickerel 
who should spy it. This decoy was loaded so as to 
sink slowly, and was so moved and maneuvered 
as to imitate the motions of a living fish. 

Crawling under the blanket with my Indian friend, 
I was surprised at the distinctness and beauty with 
which everything could be seen by the subdued 
light that came up through the ice. The bottom 
of the river, six or eight feet below us, was clearly 
visible, and seemed barely four feet away. The 
grasses, vegetable growths, and spots of pebbly 
bottom formed curious little vistas and recesses, in 
some of which dreamily floated a school of perch 
and smaller fish. Each little air-bubble sparkled 
like a gem, and the eye delighted in tracing and 
watching the mystery of beautiful water forma- 
tions, where every crevice seemed a little fairy 
world, with changing lights or shadows made by 
the sunlight through the transparent ice. 

The wooden decoy-fish, meanwhile, was being 
delicately handled by the Indian fisherman, now 
raised gently to the top of the water, then sinking 
slowly ; the very action of sinking and the posi- 
tion of its artificial fins made it run forward, now 
this way, and now that, until it really seemed 

Suddenly, from somewhere — I could not tell 
where, it seemed to come by magic — a large 
"dory," or "moon-eyed pike," appeared on the 
river bottom. The watchful Indian slowly raised 
the decoy-bait toward the surface, the larger fish 
following it with interested and puzzled eyes. 
There was a sudden movement of the spear ; down 
it darted ; its sharp prongs pierced the unsuspect- 
ing pike, which was speedily drawn up and thrown 
wriggling on the ice. Then the blanket was re-ad- 
justed, and the fishing was resumed. My bright 
young Indian friend said he could catch from 
twenty to thirty pounds of fish in an afternoon in 
this manner, and sometimes could even secure 
double that quantity. 

So ingenious and exciting a method of fishing 
interested me greatly, and when, years after, I 
again visited Green Bay, with two bright boys 
and zealous fishermen of my own, we, with some 
other wide-awake young fellows, adapted the In- 
dian method of fishing, — which was somewhat too 
rough to be literally followed, — to suit the abil- 
ities and ingenuities of civilized American lads. 





Since then the two boys have put our experiment 
into practical use on some of the best known 
pickerel ponds of New Jersey, and at one time they 
came out ahead in a fishing-match against two 
men with several set lines each. 

For such boys, therefore, as have interest or 
opportunity for such sport, I will describe this 
mode of fishing, in detail. 

In the first place, we built a house, or shelter, — a 
grand improvement upon the Indian blanket, — 
making it possible for the sport to be comfortable, 
as well as exciting and interesting. This shelter, 
which can be made of any convenient boards from 
an inch to an inch and a half thick, was about 
four feet high, four feet long, and three feet wide 
at the bottom, — and two feet long and eighteen 
inches wide at the top. The front only of the 
shelter was perpendicular, which caused the other 
three sides to slant. We left a four-inch square 
hole in the top, which was level, about three inches 
from the slanting end, so that the spear, which 


passed through it, would come about over the 
center of the bottom. To cover this hole we used 
a block one foot square, with a three-inch hole in 
the middle. To exclude light from around the 
spear, we tacked a cloth funnel to the outer edges 
of the block, firmly fastening it with inch square 
strips nailed on. This funnel was long enough to 
exclude the light by rumpling or wrinkling around 
the pole, while the opening was loose enough to 
admit of free and vigorous action. The illustra- 



tion on this page affords the best description of the 
house, which can of course be modified to suit the 
tastes or convenience of any one who may choose 
to build a little structure of the kind. One of my 
friends uses a six-foot-square house with a floor, 
a seat, and a small charcoal stove ; he can thus 
enjoy a change of position, his pipe, or book, at 
leisure, at such times as the fish are not running. 

iron, with tines four inches long. If quarter-inch 
iron is used, the tines should be six inches long ; 
if one-eighth inch, four inches will be long enough. 
Any blacksmith can make these tines with barbs as 
shown in the figure on the next page. We had them 
pointed and bent at the upper end, so as to be driven 
into the handle, as shown by the dotted lines. 
Our spear-handles were made from straight pine 


The best time for the sport is just before and just 
after sunset. 

Of course no floor is necessary, and any block or 
bit of board which raises the sportsman a few- 
inches from the ice would serve for a seat. 

I must add by way of caution that every hole or 
crack in the box should be covered ; as a direct 
ray of light not only obstructs the vision, but pre- 
vents fish from coming to the hole. Any open- 
ing that maybe discovered after setting up the box 
on the ice, can be closed with a handful of snow. 

The tines of the spears which we used were made 
of quarter-inch, round iron ; and for fish weigh- 
ing two or three pounds, three-sixteenths or one- 
eighth iron will answer. I have caught four and 
five pound pickerel on a spear of one-eighth inch 

or spruce shingle laths about one and a quarter 
inches wide, tapering from the thickness of the lath 
at one end, to three-fourths of an inch at the other. 
They may be from nine to twelve feet in length — 
but a good average is ten feet. 

The handle should be grooved so that the tines- 

2. SO 



r, s 3 


may be sunk at least half-way into it, to prevent 
slipping or twisting. They should be lashed very 
tightly and carefully to the pole with stove-pipe 
wire or any other malleable wire. 

The artificial bait or minnow, of which there are 
two outline figures on this page, we whittled out 
of pine. They were three or four inches long, 
and in proportions as drawn. In the side-view, 

sinking to a depth of three or four feet. Then it 
should be guided in a circle around the outer limit 
as far as can be seen, then returned to the center, 
about three or four feet down ; and again, kept al- 
most still. Probably the fisherman will suddenly 
be surprised to see a large fish almost under his 
eyes. Now, without excitement, gradually lifting 
the bait with one hand, with the other he takes 
the spear, and poises it over the fish, letting it 
gently slide through the hand and approach him, 
while he attracts his intended victim with the 
motions of the bait. 

When he has lowered the spear to about eighteen 

Ti£ I 


the dotted and shaded part, A, shows the shape 
and proportion of a hollow, opening from below, 
to be run full of melted lead ; we made these hol- 
lows larger at the top, so that the lead would not 
drop out, and poured in lead enough to sink the 
minnow rapidly. After cutting out the hole, and 
before running in the lead, we drove in the side- 
fins, which we cut from bits of tin with a pair of 
strong scissors. The dotted lines show how these 
fins met in the center of the space which held lead. 
The lead thus held the fins, and the fins kept the 
lead more securely in place. The back-fin was 
also cut from tin and driven into a slit made with 
a knife along the back. A bent pin made a small 
eye, or staple, which was set over the center of the 
lead and just ahead of the back fin. We defi- 
nitely settled the position of the staple by tying 
a fine fish-line to it and experimenting in a pail of 
water. When the fish hung perfectly level, the 
staple w : as in the proper position. By pulling the 
string, the resistance of the water on the side-fins 
caused the fish to shoot ahead ; and on slacking 
the thread, it also shot ahead while sinking ; in 
this way, by giving the thread little short jerks 
and alternately lifting and lowering, we made our 
decoy-bait to play about in very fish-like motions. 

Sometimes we used uncolored minnows, and 
sometimes we painted them white, the back a 
dark greenish gray. 

The young fisherman must not keep too contin- 
ued an action with the bait ; but he should merely 
raise and lower it a few inches, by little half-inch 
jerks, for a few minutes at a time ; every once in 
a while, however, he may raise it quickly nearly to 
the top of the hole. Here it should be made to 
swim and glide about, in whatever way it will, while 

inches or a foot from the fish's back, being care- 
ful to keep the hand raised, he should strike it 
suddenly and he will be apt to catch. This is a 
trick which any one can soon learn. Of course a 
few failures must be expected, at first. 

If a lad feel nervous and uncertain, and can not 
use both hands as described, let him throw the 
line over the left knee so as to hold the minnow 
just over the fish, which will probably remain long 
enough for him to lower the spear gently with 
both hands and to strike with certainty. As a 
rule the boys followed this course, but the expert 
manner is that first described. 

During a snow-storm or on a partly cloudy day, 
or just before and after sunset, are the best times 
for successful sport. 

It will not be difficult to see ; for if the box 
shuts out all outside light, it will be beautifully 
transparent and clear below, even until late in 
the evening. If the ice is covered with snow, it 
should be cleared away for a space. 

A thick overcoat should be worn, although the 
animal heat in the box will make the spearman 
warm enough, and sometimes too warm. I have 
fished comfortably when the thermometer was ten 
degrees below zero. 

The door of the house should be on the left 
hand of the spearman, who should sit with his back 
to the perpendicular end. When he catches a 
fish, he unbuttons the door, pokes the fish outside, 
pulls the spear in, and resumes fishing. 

On many of our inland lakes and ponds this 
fish-spearing can be combined with a day's skating 
and other amusements, and will give to many a 
boy a good day's sport which he will long re- 




By Dora Read Goodale. 

When I to the woodland was wont to repair, 

In the season of pleasure and mirth, 
It rustled to myriad flocks of the air 

And numberless tribes of the earth. 

How slender the sound that is echoed here now 
These bright, frozen arches to thrill ! — 

The snap of a twig or the creak of a bough 
Or the sigh of the wind on the hill. 

The nest of the warbler is empty and tossed ; 

The partridge is lonely and shy ; 
And, clad in a livery white as the frost, 

The rabbit slips silently by. 

The squirrel is hid in the heart of a tree, 

Secure from the sleet and the snow. 
And who was so merry and saucy as he ? — 

The jauntiest fellow I know ! 

Yet, under the burden of ice at its brink, 

All shining and glassy and gray, 
The sweet-throated stream where I loitered to drink 

Is murmuring still on its way. 

And hark ! what a note from the dusk)- retreat 

The bird of the winter sends forth ! 
Who taught you defiance of tempest and sleet, 

O lover and loved of the North ? 

Though forest and hill-side are heavy with snow, 

Yet hope is alive in the breast, — 
The water, imprisoned, is calling below ; 

The chickadee chirps of her nest ! 





By Frances Hodgson Burnett. 

Chapter IV. 

IT was during the voyage that Cedric's mother 
told him that his home was not to be hers ; and 
when he first understood it, his grief was so great 
that Mr. Havisham saw that the Earl had been 
wise in making the arrangements that his mother 
should be quite near him, and see him often ; for it 
was very plain he could not have borne the separa- 
tion otherwise. But his mother managed the little 
fellow so sweetly and lovingly, and made him feel 
that she would be so near him, that, after a while, 
he ceased to be oppressed by the fear of any real 

" My house is not far from the Castle, Ceddie," 
she repeated each time the subject was referred to — 
" a very little way from yours, and you can always 
run in and see me every day, and you will have so 
many things to tell me ! and we shall be so happy 
together ! It is a beautiful place. Your papa has 
often told me about it. He loved it very much ; 
and you will love it too." 

" I should love it better if you were there," his 
small lordship said, with a heavy little sigh. 

He could not but feel puzzled by so strange a 
state of affairs, which could put his " Dearest" in 
one house and himself in another. 

The fact was that Mrs. Errol had thought it bet- 
ter not to tell him why this plan had been made. 

" I should prefer he should not be told," she 
said to Mr. Havisham. " He would not really 
understand ; he would only be shocked and hurt ; 
and I feel sure that his feeling for the Earl will be 
a more natural and affectionate one if he does not 
know that his grandfather dislikes me so bitterly. 
He has never seen hatred or hardness, and it would 
be a great blow to him to find out that any one could 
hate me. He is so loving himself, and I am so 
dear to him ! It is better for him that he should 
not be told until he is much older, and it is far 
better for the Earl. It would make a barrier be- 
tween them, even though Ceddie is such a child." 

So Cedric only knew that there was some mys- 
terious reason for the arrangement, some reason 
which he was not old enough to understand, but 
which would be explained when he was older. He 
was puzzled ; but, after all, it was not the reason he 
cared about so much ; and after many talks with his 
mother, in which she comforted him and placed 
before him the bright side of the picture, the dark 
side of it graduallv began to fade out, though now 

and then Mr. Havisham saw him sitting in some 
queer little old-fashioned attitude, watching the 
sea, with a very grave face, and more than once 
he heard an unchildish sigh rise to his lips. 

" 1 don't like it," he said once as he was having 
one of his almost venerable talks with the lawyer. 
" You don't know how much I don't like it ; but 
there are a great many troubles in this world, and 
you have to bear them. Mary says so, and I 've 
heard Mr. Hobbs say it too. And Dearest wants 
me to like to live with my grandpapa, because, you 
see, all his children are dead, and that 's very 
mournful. It makes you sorry for a man, when 
all his children have died — and one was killed 

One of the things which always delighted the 
people who made the acquaintance of his young 
lordship was the sage little air he wore at times 
when he-gave himself up to conversation ; — com- 
bined with his occasionally elderly remarks and 
the extreme innocence and seriousness of his round 
childish face, it was irresistible. He was such a 
handsome, blooming, curly-headed little fellow, 
that, when he sat down and nursed his knee with 
his chubby hands, and conversed with much gravity, 
he was a source of great entertainment to his 
hearers. Gradually Mr. Havisham had begun to 
derive a great deal of private pleasure and amuse- 
ment from his society. 

" And so you are going to try to like the Earl," 
he said. 

"Yes," answered his lordship. "He's my 
relation, and of course you have to like your rela- 
tions ; and besides, he 's been very kind to me. 
When a person does so many things for you, and 
wants you to have everything you wish for, of 
course you 'd like him if he was n't your relation ; 
but when he 's your relation and does that, why, 
you 're very fond of him." 

"Do you think," suggested Mr. Havisham, 
"that he will be fond of you?" 

" Well," said Cedric, " I think he will, because, 
you see, I 'm his relation, too, and I 'm his boy's 
little boy besides, and, well, don't you see — of 
course he must be fond of me now, or he would n't 
want me to have everything that I like, and he 
would n't have sent you for me." 

" Oh !" remarked the lawyer, " that 's it, is it?" 

"Yes," said Cedric, "that's it. Don't you 
think that 's it, too? Of course a man would be 
fond of his grandson." 



The people who had been seasick had no sooner 
recovered from their seasickness, and come on deck 
to recline in their steamer-chairs and enjoy them- 
selves, than every one seemed to know the romantic 
story of little Lord Fauntleroy, and everyone took 
an interest in the little fellow, who ran about the 
ship or walked with his mother or the tall, thin 
old lawyer, or talked to the sailors. Every one 
liked him ; he made friends everywhere. He was 
ever ready to make friends. When the gentle- 
men walked up and down the deck, and let him 
walk with them, he stepped out with a manly, 
sturdy little tramp, and answered all their jokes 
with much gay enjoyment ; when the ladies talked 
to him, there was always laughter in the group of 
which he was the center ; when he played with the 
children, there was always magnificent fun on hand. 
Among the sailors he had the heartiest friends ; 
he heard miraculous stories about pirates and ship- 
wrecks and desert islands; he learned to splice 
ropes and rig toy ships, and gained an amount of 
information concerning "tops'les" and "main- 
Vies," quite surprising. His conversation had, 
indeed, quite a nautical flavor at times, and on one 
occasion he raised a shout of laughter in a group 
of ladies and gentlemen who were sitting on deck, 
wrapped in shawls and overcoats, by saying sweetly, 
and with a very engaging expression : 

•' Shiver my timbers, but it 's a cold day ! " 

It surprised him when they laughed. He had 
picked up this sea-faring remark from an " elderly 
naval man " of the name of Jerry, who told him 
stories in which it occurred frequently. To judge 
from his stories of his own adventures, Jerry had 
made some two or three thousand voyages, and 
had been invariably shipwrecked on each occasion 
on an island densely populated with bloodthirsty 
cannibals. Judging, also, by these same exciting 
adventures, he had been partially roasted and eaten 
frequently and had been scalped some fifteen or 
twenty times. 

" That is why he is so bald," explained Lord 
Fauntleroy to his mamma. " After you have been 
scalped several times the hair never grows again. 
Jerry's never grew after that last time, when the 
King of the Parromachaweekins did it with the 
knife made out of the skull of the Chief of the 
Wopslemumpkies. He says it was one of the 
most serious times he ever had. He was so fright- 
ened that his hair stood right straight up when the 
king flourished his knife, and it never would lie 
down, and the king wears it that way now, and it 
looks something like a hair-brush. I never heard 
anything like the asperiences Jerry has had ! 1 
should so like to tell Mr. Hobbs about them ! " 

Sometimes, when the weather was very disagreea- 
ble and people were kept below decks in the saloon, 

a party of his grown-up friends would persuade 
him to tell them some of these "asperiences" of 
Jerry's, and as he sat relating them with great 
delight and fervor, there was certainly no more 
popular voyager on any ocean steamer crossing the 
Atlantic than little Lord Fauntleroy. He was 
always innocently and good-naturedly ready to do 
his small best to add to the general entertainment, 



and there was a charm in the very unconscious- 
ness of his own childish importance. 

"Jerry's stories int'rust them very much," he 
said to his mamma. "For my part — you must 
excuse me, Dearest — but sometimes I should have 
thought they could n't be all quite true, if they 
had n't happened to Jerry himself; but as they all 
happened to Jerry — well, it 's very strange, you 
know, and perhaps sometimes he may forget and 
be a little mistaken, as he 's been scalned so often. 




Being scalped a great many times might make a 
person forgetful." 

It was eleven days after he had said good-bye 
to his friend Dick before he reached Liverpool ; and 
it was on the night of the twelfth day that the 
carriage, in which he and his mother and Mr. 
Havisham had driven from the station, stopped 
before the gates of Court Lodge. They could not 
see much of the house in the darkness. Cedric 
only saw that there was a driveway under great 
arching trees, and after the carriage had rolled 
down this driveway a short distance, he saw an 
open door and a stream of bright light coming 
through it. 

Mary had come with them to attend her mistress, 
and she had reached the house before them. 
When Cedric jumped out of the carriage he saw 
one or two servants standing in the wide, bright 
hall, and Mary stood in the doorway. 

Lord Fauntleroy sprang at her with a gay little 

" Did you get here, Mary? " he said. " Here 's 
Mary, Dearest," and he kissed the maid on her 
rough red cheek. 

'• I am glad you are here, Mary," Mrs. Errol 
said to her in a low voice. " It is such a comfort 
to me to see you. It takes the strangeness away." 
And she held out her little hand which Mary 
squeezed encouragingly. She knew how this first 
"strangeness" must feel to this little mother who 
had left her own land and was about to give up 
her child. 

The English servants looked with curiosity at 
both the boy and his mother. They had heard all 
sorts of rumors about them both ; they knew how 
angry the old Earl had been, and why Mrs. Errol 
was to live at the lodge and her little boy at the 
castle ; they knew all about the great fortune he 
was to inherit, and about the savage old grand- 
father and his gout and his tempers. 

" He 'II have no easy time of it, poor little 
chap," they had said among themselves. 

But they did not know what sort of a little lord 
had come among them ; they did not quite under- 
stand the character of the next Earl of Dorincourt. 

He pulled off his overcoat quite as if he were 
used to doing things for himself, and began to 
look about him. He looked about the broad hall, 
at the pictures and stags' antlers and curious 
things that ornamented it. They seemed curious 
to him because he had never seen such things 
before in a private house. 

" Dearest," he said, "this is a very pretty house, 
is n't it? I am glad you are going to live here. 
It 's quite a large house." 

It was quite a large house compared to the 
one in the shabby New York street, and it was 

very pretty and cheerful. Mary led them upstairs 
to a bright chintz-hung bedroom where a fire was 
burning, and a large snow-white Persian cat was 
sleeping luxuriously on the white fur hearth-rug. 

" It was thehouse-kaper up at the Castle, ma'am, 
sint her to yez," explained Mary. " It 's herself 
is a kind-hearted lady an' has had iverything done 
to prepar' fur yez. I seen her meself a few 
minnits, an' she was fond av the Capt'in, ma'am, 
an' graivs fur him ; and she said to say the big cat 
slapin' on the rug moight make the room same 
homeloike to yez. She knowed Capt'in Errol whin 
he was a bye — an' a foine handsum' bye she ses 
he was, an' a foine young man wid a plisint word 
fur every one, great an' shmall. An' ses I to her, 
ses I : ' He 's lift a bye that 'sloike him, ma'am, fur 
a foiner little felly niver sthipped in shoe-leather.' " 

When they were ready, they went downstairs 
into another big bright room; its ceiling was low, 
and the furniture was heavy and beautifully carved, 
the chairs were deep and had high massive backs, 
and there were queer shelves and cabinets with 
strange, pretty ornaments on them. There was a 
great tiger-skin before the fire, and an arm-chair 
on each side of it. The stately white cat had 
responded to Lord Fauntleroy's stroking and fol- 
lowed him downstairs, and when he threw himself 
down upon the rug, she curled herself up grandly 
beside him as if she intended to make friends. 
Cedric was so pleased that he put his head down 
by hers, and lay stroking her, not noticing what 
his mother and Mr. Havisham were saying. 

They were, indeed, speaking in a rather low tone. 
Mrs. Errol looked a little pale and agitated. 

" He need not go to-night ?" she said. " He will 
stay with me to-night? " 

" Yes," answered Mr. Havisham in the same 
low tone ; "it will not be necessary for him to go 
to-night. I myself will go to the Castle as soon as 
we have dined, and inform the Earl of our arrival." 

Mrs. Errol glanced down at Cedric. He was 
lying in a graceful, careless attitude upon the 
black-and-yellow skin ; the fire shone on his 
handsome, flushed little face, and on the tumbled, 
curly hair spread out on the rug; the big cat was 
purring in drowsy content, she liked the caressing 
touch of the kind little hand on her fur. 

Mrs. Errol smiled faintly. 

"His lordship does not know all that he is tak- 
ing from me," she said rather sadly. Then she 
looked at the lawyer. " Will you tell him, if you 
please," she said, " that I should rather not have 
the money ? " 

"The money!" Mr. Havisham exclaimed. 
"You can not mean the income he proposed to 
settle upon you ! " 

" Yes," she answered, quite simply ; " I think I 



should rather not have it. I am obliged to accept 
the house, and I thank him for it, because it 
makes it possible for me to be near my child ; 
but I have a little money of my own, — enough to 
live simply upon, — and I should rather not take 
the other. As he dislikes me so much, I should 
feel a little as if I were selling Cedric to him. I 
am giving him up only because I love him enough 
to forget myself for his good, and because his 
father would wish it to be so." 

Mr. Havisham rubbed his chin. 

" This is very strange," he said. " He will be 
very angry. He wont understand it." 

" I think he will understand it, after he thinks 
it over," she said. "I do not really need the 
money, and why should I accept luxuries from the 
man who hates me so much that he takes my little 
boy from me — his son's child?" 

Mr. Havisham looked reflective for a few- 

" I will deliver your message," he said after- 

And then the dinner was brought in and they 
sat down together, the big cat taking a seat on a 
chair near Cedric's and purring majestically 
throughout the meal. 

When, later in the evening, Mr. Havisham pre- 
sented himself at the Castle, he was taken at once 
to the Earl. He found him sitting by the fire in a 
luxurious easy-chair, his foot on a gout-stool. He 
looked at the lawyer sharply from under his shaggy 
eyebrows, but Mr. Havisham could see that, in 
spite of his pretense at calmness, he was nervous 
and secretly excited. 

"Well," he said ; " well, Havisham, come back, 
have you ? What 's the news ? " 

"Lord Fauntleroy and his mother are at Court 
Lodge," replied Mr. Havisham. "They bore the 
voyage very well and are in excellent health." 

The Earl made a half-impatient sound and 
moved his hand restlessly. 

"Glad to hear it," he said brusquely. "So 
far, so good. Make yourself comfortable. Have 
a glass of wine and settle down. What else ? " 

" His lordship remains with his mother to-night. 
To-morrow I will bring him to the Castle." 

The Earl's elbow was resting on the arm of his 
chair ; he put his hand up and shielded his eyes 
with it. 

"Well," he said; "go on. You know I told 
you not to write to me about the matter, and I 
know nothing whatever about it. What kind of a 
lad is he ? I don't care about the mother ; what 
sort of a lad is he ? " 

Mr. Havisham drank a little of the glass of port 
he had poured out for himself, and sat holding 
it in his hand. 

" It is rather difficult to judge of the character 
of a child of seven," he said cautiously. 

The Earl's prejudices were very intense. He 
looked up quickly and uttered a rough word. 

" A fool, is he ? " he exclaimed. " Or a clumsy 
cub ? His American blood tells, does it ? " 

"I do not think it has injured him, my lord," 
replied the lawyer in his dry, deliberate fashion. 
" I don't know much about children, but I thought 
him rather a fine lad." 

His manner of speech was always deliberate and 
unenthusiastic, but he made it a trifle more so 
than usual. He had a shrewd fancy that it would 
be better that the Earl should judge for himself, 
and be quite unprepared for his first interview with 
his grandson. 

" Healthy and well-grown ? " asked my lord. 

" Apparently very healthy, and quite well- 
grown," replied the lawyer. 

" Straight-limbed and well enough to lock at ? " 
demanded the Earl. 

Avery slight smile touched Mr. Havisham's thin 
lips. There rose up before his mind's eye the 
picture he had left at Court Lodge, — the beauti- 
ful, graceful child's body lying upon the tiger-skin 
in careless comfort — the bright, tumbled hair 
spread on the rug — the bright, rosy boy's face. 

" Rather a handsome boy, I think, my lord, 
as boys go," he said, "though I am scarcely a 
judge, perhaps. But you will find him somewhat 
different from most English children, I dare say." 

" I have n't a doubt of that," snarled the Earl, 
a twinge of gout seizing him. "A lot of impudent 
little beggars, those American children ; I 've 
heard that often enough." 

"It is not exactly impudence in his case," said 
Mr. Havisham. " I can scarcely describe what 
the difference is. He has lived more with older 
people than with children, and the difference 
seems to be a mixture of maturity and childishness. " 

"American impudence!" protested the Earl. 
" I 've heard of it before. They call it precocity 
and freedom. Beastly, impudent bad manners; 
that 's what it is ! " 

Mr. Havisham drank some more port. He sel- 
dom argued with his lordly patron, — never when 
his lordly patron's noble leg was inflamed by gout. 
At such times it was always better to leave him 
alone. So there was a silence of a few moments. 
It was Mr. Havisham who broke it. 

" I have a message to deliver from Mrs. Errol," 
he remarked. 

" I don't want any of her messages ! " growled 
his lordship ; " the less I hear of her the better." 

" This is a rather important one," explained 
the lawyer. " She prefers not to accept the in- 
come you proposed to settle on her." 

2 5 6 



The Earl started visibly. 

"What 's that?" he cried out. ''What 's 
that ? " 

Mr. Havisham repeated his words. 

'" She says it is not necessary, and that as the 
relations between you are not friendly " 

" Not friendly ! " ejaculated my lord savagely ; 
" I should say they were not friendly ! I hate to 
think of her ! A mercenary, sharp-voiced Ameri- 
can ! 1 don't wish to see her ! " 

My lord,'' said Mr. Havisham. 

■ vou can 

blustered my lord. " She shall have it sent to her. 
She sha'n't tell people that she has to live like a 
pauper because I have done nothing for her ! She 
wants to give the boy a bad opinion of me ! 1 
suppose she has poisoned his mind against me 
already ! " 

" No," said Mr. Havisham. " I have another 
message, which will prove to you that she has not 
done that." 

" I don't want to hear it ! " panted the Earl, out 
of breath with anger and excitement and gout. 




scarcely call her mercenary. She has asked for 
nothing. She does not accept the money you 
offer her." 

"All done for effect ! " snapped his noble lord- 
ship. " She wants to wheedle me into seeing 
her. She thinks I shall admire her spirit. I don't 
admire it ! It 's only American independence ! I 
wont have her living like a beggar at my park gates. 
As she 's the boy's mother, she has a position to keep 
up, and she shall keep it up. She shall have the 
money, whether she likes it or not ! " 

" She wont spend it," said Mr. Havisham. 

"I don't care whether she spends it or not!" 

But Mr. Havisham delivered it. 

" She asks you not to let Lord Fauntleroy hear 
anything which would lead him to understand 
that you separate him from her because of your 
prejudice against her. He is very fond of her, and 
she is convinced that it would cause a barrier to 
exist between you. She says he would not com- 
prehend it, and it might make him fear you in 
some measure, or at least cause him to feel less 
affection for you. She has told him that he is too 
young to understand the reason, but shall hear it 
when he is older. She wishes that there should 
be no shadow on vour first meeting." 

i8S6. ' 



The Earl sank back into his chair. His deep-set 
fierce old eyes gleamed under his beetling brows. 

" Come, now ! " he said, still breathlessly. 
" Come, now ! You don't mean the mother 
has n't told him ? " 

" Not one word, my lord, "replied the lawyer cool- 
ly. " That I can assure you. The child is prepared 
to believe you the most amiable and affectionate of 
grandparents. Nothing — absolutely nothing has 
been said to him to give him the slightest doubt 
of your perfection. And as I carried out your 
commands in every detail, while in New York, he 
certainly regards you as a wonder of generosity." 

" He does, eh ? " said the Earl. 

" I give you my word of honor," said Mr. Hav- 
isham, "that Lord Fauntleroy's impressions of 
you will depend entirely upon yourself. And if 
you will pardon the liberty I take in making the 
suggestion, I think you will succeed better with him 
if you take the precaution not to speak slightingly 
of his mother." 

" Pooh, pooh ! " said the Earl. "The young- 
ster 's only seven years old ! " 

" He has spent those seven years at his mother's 
side," returned Mr. Havisham ; " and she has all 
his affection." 

(To bt? continued.) 

By Sophie Swett. 

Every one knew that Kitty Brimblecom was 
careless long before she lost her pocket. She lost 
not only little things such as thimbles and pencils 
and pocket-knives, but she lost her hat and one 
of her shoes, the soup-ladle and the pendulum of 
the clock, her wax doll's head and her brother 
Jack's tame owl ; but all that was nothing com- 
pared with losing the baby! He was her own 
brother, and was only six months old when 
she lost him. Nurse had him out in the park, in 
his carriage, and was sitting on a bench gossip- 
ing with a crony, when Kitty seized the opportunity 
to run away, rolling the carriage before her. It 
went very easily, and she thought she could give 
the baby a ride just as well as Nurse: but un- 
happily, when she went into the crowded street a 
hand-organ with a monkey came along. Kitty was 
especially interested in monkeys ; her brother Jack 
had said they would stuff their cheeks full of nuts, 
just like squirrels ; she had some nuts in her pocket, 
and wished to see whether this monkey would 
make his cheeks stick out with them. And she 
left the baby in his carriage on the sidewalk, and 
forgot all about him ! 

And such a time as there was about it ! Kitty's 
mother fainted, and Nurse had hysterics, and two 
policemen were employed to find the baby, and 
Jack said it was just like Kitty, and her father said 
she could not be trusted at all, — and it was ten 
o'clock at night before they found him ! 

And that monkey just cracked the nuts and ate 
them like anybody else. And Jack said he had 
never said that monkeys would stuff their cheeks 
full like squirrels. 

VOL. XIII. — 17. 

Kitty resolved that nothing should ever tempt 
her to be careless again. 

And she did improve very much after that. If 
she had not, her mother would never have allowed 
her to spend a whole month at Grandma's. 
Grandma lived in the country, on a farm, and 
there were good times to be had there, even in 
winter. The whole family went there to spend 
Christmas, and Grandma wanted Kitty to be left 
with her, for a long visit. She said Kitty's cheeks 
w-ere pale^ and she thought a little vacation would 
do her good, and she wanted her to keep the house 
bright and lively. And she did n't pay the least 
attention to Jack when he said that perhaps Kitty 
might make it too lively, and that she 'd better 
keep him to find the things that Kitty would lose. 
Grandma did n't think Kitty so troublesome a girl 
as she was considered at home ; she was a very 
kind grandmother, and found excuses for her 
grandchild. Perhaps you may have noticed that 
grandmothers are very often like that. 

Kitty jumped for joy when her mother, after 
some hesitation, said she might stay. Some peo- 
ple might have thought it pleasanter in the city 
in the winter, but Kitty preferred the country. 

She liked to rise early, when there was n't a 
sign that it was morning, except the persistent 
crowing of the old red rooster, and go out to the 
barn with Absalom, the hired man, who went to 
feed the horses and cattle, and to milk the cows. 
Very often it was so early that stars were still 
shining in the sky, and it was so still that it seemed 
as if nobody were alive in the world. Kitty felt 
just as if she had risen early to go on a journey, 




and there was something very fascinating about it. 
Kitty liked to feed the cows, which looked at 
her with friendly eyes, and the frisky little calf, 
Kitty's namesake and her especial property, always 
expected to have its head stroked. The old red 
rooster, that had been trying for the last hour to 
convince his lazy family that it was time to wake 
up, came strutting along to take his breakfast from 
her hands, followed by a flock of sleepy hens cluck- 
ing their dissatisfaction at so early arising, but not 
wanting in appetite. Even the lordly old gob- 
bler, with a very infirm temper that allowed no 
familiarities, would bend his lefty neck to eat from 
the dish Kitty held in her hand. 

The old gray mare always whinnied for a lump 
of sugar as soon as Kitty came in sight, and Kitty 
never failed to have it. It was fascinating, too, to 
see Absalom milk the cows, and while he was doing 
it he sang beautiful songs, that would almost bring 
tears to your eyes, about his " lovely Mary Jane" 
and " The Lass that Tore her Hair." 

When they went back to the house Kitty usually 
curled up on the lounge in the sitting-room and 
had a nap until breakfast-time. 

But going to the barn in the morning was only 
a small part of the fun that was to be had at 
Grandma's. Kitty was sure there were nowhere 
such hills for coasting as those about Cloverfield ; 
and what were rinks for skating compared with the 
mill-pond? The snow staid on the ground 
longer than it did in the city, so there were plenty 
of sleigh rides ; and there were singing-schools, 
and spelling-schools, and apple-bees, and all sorts 
of frolics to which Grandma always let her go. 
because they did not last until late, as such merry- 
makings did in the city. 

At first the girls and boys were a little shy of 
Kitty, because she came from the city ; but they 
soon became very friendly, and Kitty thought they 
were as agreeable friends as she had ever known, 
especially the little girls, who admired her clothes 
very much, and coaxed their mothers to bang their 
hair, because Kitty wore hers banged. 

Mary Jane Lawton lived in the next house to 
Grandma's, and she was just Kitty's age; and 
Kitty liked her very much, though some of the 
girls told her in confidence that Mary Jane was 
haughty and proud. 

Rosy and Roxy Dayton were Kitty's particular 
friends, and she could tell them apart, even with- 
out their necklaces on, although she had known 
them only a little while ; and she was quite proud 
of her ability to distinguish them, for they were 
twins, and looked so much alike that their own 
relatives could scarcely have told them apart, if 
one had not worn a red necklace and one a blue. 

Martha Stebbins, the minister's little girl, was 

also a friend of Kitty's, but she could not come 
out to play very often, because she had so many 
little brothers and sisters, and was always having 
to rock one of them to sleep. 

But it happened one Saturday afternoon, when 
there was very fine coasting on Redtop Hill, that 
Kitty and all her friends could go. Martha Steb- 
bins's little brothers and sisters were so considerate 
as to go to sleep without being rocked ; Rosy 
and Roxy, who had to help in the Saturday bak- 
ing, by peeling apples and seeding raisins and 
chopping meat, had finished their work ; Mary 
Jane Lawton had recovered from her cold; and 
Grandma said Kitty could go and stay all the after- 
noon, if she would only go around by Mr. Spring 
the watch-maker's, on her way home, and ask him 
to fasten one of the glasses which had dropped 
out of Grandma's spectacles. It would take Mr. 
Spring only a very few minutes, and she could 
wait for them, and she was not on any account 
to forget, because Grandma could not see to read 
the hymns in church the next day without her 
" glasses." 

The part}' set out in very high spirits, each with 
a fine, gayly painted sled. When they were about 
half-way to Redtop Hill, a girl came out of a 
house and stood in the road, evidently waiting for 
them to come up. She had very red hair and a 
freckled face, and her nose turned up. She wore 
a calico dress, an old red and green shawl, and a 
yellow pumpkin hood : and she had a very queer- 
looking sled, which was evidently of home manu- 
facture. It was unpainted, and its runners had 
apparently been taken from a larger sled, and they 
extended beyond it in a very funny way. 

" If there is n't Sally Pringle ! " exclaimed Mary 
Jane Lawton. " I wonder if she thinks she is go- 
ing with us ! Old Mrs. Meacham took her out of 
the poor-house, and she does all sorts of work." 

' ' I 'm sorry for her ; they say old Mrs. Meacham 
is so cross to her ! " said Roxy Dayton. 

"Oh, so cross! " said Rosy Dayton. 

"But she can't expect to 'sociate with us!" 
said Mary Jane Lawton, with a toss of her head. 

" Goin' to Redtop Hill?" asked Sally Pringle, 
as soon as they reached her. " So 'm I ! All 
my work 's done up, and Mis' Meacham says I 
can stay all the afternoon. I guess I '11 go with 
you, 'cause I don't know many." 

" You have n't been invited," said Mary Jane, 
with another toss of her head ; and she crossed 
the road away from Sally Pringle, beckoning and 
drawing the others, who, I am sorry to say, all 
followed her. 

" I guess I 'm as good as you !" cried Sallie 
Pringle, her little freckled face growing almost as 
red as her hair. '" And, anyhow, this sled that 



2 59 

Dave made for me '11 go better 'n any of yours ; 
so there ! " 

"We would n't have such a funny-looking old 
sled ! " said Martha Stebbins. 

" Oh, my ! What red hair ! " said Roxy Dayton. 

" Yes, and freckles ! " said Rosy. 

'"I 'm not just alike, anyhow! Folks can tell 
me apart ! " cried Sally Pringle, almost choking 
with wrath. 

The twins were silenced by this cutting retort. 

Kitty said to Mary Jane, in a low tone : 

" She 's all alone ; it would n't do us any harm 
to let her corne with us." 

you spcakin' to that Lawton girl ; she would n't 'a' 
said I could come if it had n't been for you. You 
're not a bit stuck-up, if you do live in the city, 
are you ? You 're as pretty as paint, and your 
clothes are handsome, though it 's a pity your 
mother did n't have cloth enough to make your 
dress a little mite longer, and if you had a round 
comb 't would keep your hair out of your eyes. I 
think those girls are mean and proud, don't you ? " 

"They didn't intend to hurt your feelings; 
they did n't think," said Kitty. 

" I don't care if my hair is red, and if the boys 
do call • house a-tire ' after me ! Dave is goin' 



" I never supposed you 'd want her," said Mary- 
Jane to Kitty. " You can come with us if you like ! " 
she said, in a very ungracious tone, to Sally Pringle, 
without casting a glance in her direction. 

Sally was walking sturdily along, on the other 
side of the road, pulling her sled after her with 
an occasional jerk which showed a disturbed state 
of mind, and she gave no heed to Mary Jane's per- 

Kitty suddenly caught sight of two tears drop- 
ping from the tip of the little turned-up nose, and 
her heart was moved. 

She went across the road to Sally's side. 

" I think you are a good girl. I want you to go 
with me ! " she said, taking Sally's arm in hers. 

"Do you now, honest?" said Sally, lifting a 
pair of brimming eyes to Kitty's face. "I heard 

to fight 'em. Don't you know Dave? His name 
is n't Meacham, no more 'n mine, but folks call 
him so ; he 's a boy that Mis' Meacham took, 
just as she took me. He was town's poor, too, but 
he 's smart, Dave is. If you '11 never tell as 
long as you live, I '11 tell you a secret. Dave is 
going to be President, one of these days, and we 're 
going to live in the White House, and I '11 ask you 
to come and see us, but I wont ask any of those 
girls — would you ? — 'cause they said I was town's 
poor and my hair was red. I don't care if my 
hair is red. — but I would n't be twins, anyhow, 
would you ? " 

" I think your hair is a pretty color; I saw some 
just like it in a beautiful picture, once," said Kitty, 
lifting admiringly the heavy, waving, red locks, 
that were really beautiful. 




"Did you, now, honest?" said Sally, her eyes 
shining with delight. " I '11 take you on my sled. 
The girls make fun of it now, but you 'd better 
b'lieve they wont pretty soon ! Dave made it, and it 
will go! you '11 see! Dave don't think much of girls' 
sleds, anyhow, even if they are all painted up ! " 

By this time they had reached Redtop Hill, which 
presented a very gay appearance, being thronged 
with boys and girls, some going up and some 
down, and all changing places like the bits of 
glass in a kaleidoscope. 

Kitty and Sally were still walking together on 
one side of the road, while Kitty's friends walked 
on the other, but they came together when they 
reached the top of the hill, and the girls were all 

a sled there that could beat it A great cheering 
arose as Sally distanced all those who started with 
her, and she came up the hill radiant with delight. 

" You shall take it just as many times as you 
want to, 'cause you 've been real good to me ! " 
she said to Kitty. 

But Kitty preferred to go down with her rather 
than to take the sled by herself, so she sat in 
front, and Sally sat behind and steered, and they 
went down like the wind, and Kitty said it was the 
best coast that she ever had in her life. She and 
Sally formed a queer contrast in looks, and they 
heard remarks made about it, and occasionally a 
laugh would be raised at Sally's looks, and once a 
small urchin called out " house a-fire ! " 


(SEE PAGE 262.) 

very polite and conciliatory in their manner to 
Sally, who, however, received their attentions with 
considerable dignity and reserve. 

She perched upon her sled, boy-fashion , shouted in 
a commanding tone to everybody to get out of the 
way, and away she went down the hill. The sled 
that Dave had made could go ! There was scarcely 

" If it wasn't for you, I 'd chase him," said Sally 
to Kitty; " but there 'd be a great laughing and 
shouting, and may be you 'd be ashamed. I don't 
care how much they laugh at me so long as you 're 
not ashamed to go with me." 

Kitty assured her that she was not ; and, after 
that, Sally was undisturbed. 



She offered her sled to all Kitty's friends, even and I heard her say the other day that she did n't 

to Mary Jane Lawton and the twins, who had know what she should do if anything should hap- 

said her hair was red, and they were very glad to pen to them, because they just suited her eyes, 

accept it, in spite of its looks. What with her and my purse with my three-dollar gold piece, and 


sled and Kitty's friendship, Sally was quite the 
belle of the occasion, and no one there was hap- 
pier. There was only one thing that was sad 
about that afternoon to Kitty and Sally : it would 
come to an end ! The darkness seemed to come 
down sooner than it ever did before, and they had 
to go home. 

Mary Jane, and Roxy and Rosy Dayton, and Sally 
went with Kitty to Mr. Spring the watch-maker's. 

With one hand on the latch of Mr. Spring's 
door, Kitty put her other hand into her pocket to 
get Grandma's spectacles. O, dear, no ! not into 
her pocket, but into the place where her pocket 
should have been ! 

The pocket was gone ! 

" Oh, what shall I do ? What shall I do ? I've 
lost my pocket ! " cried Kitty. " I remember now 
that it was half-ripped out when I put the dress on 
this morning, and I put two pins in it, and meant 
to sew it in before I came out, and then I forgot 
it, and, oh, dear ! Grandma's spectacles were in it, 

all the money I had besides, and my diary, with — 
oh, a great many things written in it that I did n't 
want anybody to see, and the baby's photogTaph, 
and my lucky-bone that Jack told me never to 
lose, and — oh dear! if I only had Grandma's 
glasses I would n't mind about the rest ! That is — 
not m-m-much ! " 

And poor Kitty found it impossible to restrain 
her tears. 

"It is of no use to go back and look for it, of 
course," said Mary Jane. " It 's too dark to find 
it, and probably somebody picked it up." 

"No, it is n't of any use," said Kitty, looking 
regretfully back into the darkness, in the direction 
of Redtop Hill. " I shall never see it again ! And 
Grandma can't read a word ! " 

Mary Jane, and Roxy and Rosy Dayton tried to 
comfort Kitty, as they walked homeward, but 
Sally Pringle said never a word. She ran on 
ahead of them, and went into her house without 
stopping to say good-night. 




"She did n't even say she was sorry you had 
lost your pocket, after you were so kind to her," 
said Mary Jane. 

Kitty did feel rather hurt at Sally's want of 
sympathy, but, after all, it did not matter whether 
anybody was sorry for her or not; sorrow would 
not help the matter. It was almost as bad as los- 
ing the baby ! Kitty did not know but that it was 
fully as bad. for he was sure to be found, and the 
pocket was almost sure not to be found. Besides, 
she was younger when she lost the baby, and 
there was more excuse for her carelessness. 

And she had wished to behave particularly well 
at Grandma's, because Jack had prophesied that 
she would n't, and because she wanted to come 
again soon. And Grandma, who was very neat 
and particular, would think it was a dreadful thing 
to pin in a pocket ! And how mortified her 
mother would be when she heard of it ! 

Grandma had company to tea and forgot to 
ask about her spectacles. That was a great relief 
to Kitty at first, but after a while she began to 
think it would have been better if she had told of 
her loss at first. She could scarcely eat a mouth- 
ful, for dreading it, and she jumped every time 
any one spoke to her, and Grandma asked her 
if she did n't feel well. 

At one moment, she wished Grandma's company 
would go, that she might tell her about it, and 
the next moment she wished they would stay for- 
ever, so that she need never tell. 

She did hope all the time that Grandma would 
not speak of her spectacles until her guests had 
gone, for she would have to tell what had become 
of them, and they all would say, " Who ever 
heard of a girl so careless as to lose her pocket ? " 

As soon as supper was over she tried to go out 
in the kitchen to find Absalom ; she thought it 
would be a comfort to tell him all about it ; but 
Grandma's visitors would keep talking to her, and 
Grandma praised her to them, and said she " was 
feet and hands to her, and eyes, too, sometimes " ; 
and then Kitty trembled lest that should make her 
think of her spectacles. But it did n't ; and very 
soon after that, the visitors took their leave. Kitty 
tried to summon her courage to tell Grandma 

then, but she went out of the room, and Kitty 
went to find Absalom. Just as she stepped into 
the kitchen there came a loud knock at the back 
door. Absalom opened the door, and in stepped 
Sally Pringle, followed by a boy, with clothes too 
small for him, and feet and hands too large. 

Sally held up, triumphantly, Kitty's lost pocket. 

" I went right after Dave, for I knew he could 
find it," said Sally, " and we went right up to Red- 
top Hill, and we took a lantern, and we hunted 
and hunted ; at last we saw one end of it sticking 
out of a snow-bank. I 'm real glad we found it, 
'cause you were good to me. I don't know as 
anybody like you was ever so good to me before, 
and it seemed as if I could n't stand it to see you 
cry. We must go right home, now, 'cause Mis' 
Meacham will be very cross ; but I don't care so 
long as we found your pocket ! " 

And then Kitty threw her arms around Sally 
Pringle's neck, and kissed both her freckled cheeks. 

" I don't care what Mis' Meacham does, now ! " 
cried Sally as she ran off. 

Kitty told Grandma all about it ; she did n't 
mind owning how careless she had been, now that 
the pocket was found with everything safe in it, 
even to the lucky-bone that Jack had given her, 
and she wanted Grandma to know what a nice 
girl Sally Pringle was. And Grandma was very 
much interested, and said she was going to make 
Sally's acquaintance. And the upshot of it was 
that Grandma liked Sally so much that she made 
a bargain with old Mrs. Meacham to let Sally 
come and live with her and be " hands and feet 
and sometimes eyes " for her, after Kitty had gone 

And Sally improved so much under the kindly 
influences at Grandma's, and was so faithful and 
sweet-tempered and unselfish, that she soon be- 
came like a daughter of the house. 

And Grandma, who never did anything by 
halves, discovered that Dave was an uncommonly 
bright boy and sent him away to school. 

Kitty finds it better fun than ever to go to 
Grandma's now, because Sally is there. 

But though so much good came of it. Kitty 
never pinned her pocket in again. 





By Frank R. Stockton. 


Every one of us who has ever read anything 
at all about Italy will remember that the Bay 
of Naples is considered one of the loveliest pieces 
of water in the world. It is not its beauty only 
which attracts us ; it is surrounded by interesting 
and most curious places ; and some of these we 
shall now visit. 

Although Naples is the most populous city of 
Italy, it will not take us very long to see it as it 
is, and that is all there is to see. Her people have 
always lived for the present ; they have never occu- 
pied themselves with great works of art or architect- 
ure for future ages ; and the consequence is that, 
unlike the other cities of Italy, it offers us few 
interesting mementos of the past. Some of you 
may like this, and may be much better satisfied to 
see how the Neapolitan enjoys himself to-day than 
to know how he used to do it a thousand years 

ago. If that is the case, all you have to do is to 
open your eyes and look about you. Naples is one 
of the noisiest, liveliest cities in the world. The 
people are very fond of the open air, and they are 
in the streets all day, and nearly all night. The 
shoemaker brings his bench out on the sidewalk 
and sits there merrily mending his shoes. Women 
come out in front of their houses and sew, take care 
of their babies, and often make their bread and 
cook their dinners in the open street. In the 
streets all sorts and conditions of men, women, 
and children work, play, buy, sell, walk, talk, sing, 
or cry ; here the carriages are driven furiously up 
and down, the drivers cracking their whips and 
shouting ; here move about the little donkeys with 
piles of vegetables or freshly cut grass upon their 
backs, so that nothing but their heads and feet are 
seen ; and here are to be found noise enough and 
dirt enough to make some people very soon satis- 
fied with their walks through the streets of Naples. 
The greatest attraction of Naples is its famous 
museum, which contains more valuable sculptures 





and works of art, and more rare and curious things 
than we could look at in a week. There is nothing 
in it, however, which will interest us so much as 
the bronze figures, the wall paintings, the orna- 
ments, domestic utensils, and other objects, which 
have been taken out of the ruins of 
the buried cities of Pompeii and Her- 
culaneum. The collection of these 
things is immense, for nearly every- 
thing that has been dug from the ruins 
since the excavations began has been 
brought to this museum. Some of 
the bronze statues arc wonderfully 
beautiful and life-like ; and such fig- 
ures as the " Narcissus " from Pom- 
peii or the " Reposing Mercury " from 
Herculaneum have seldom been sur- 
passed by sculptors of any age. There 
are many rooms filled with things that 
give us a good idea of how the Pom- 
peiians used to live. Here are pots, 
kettles, pans, knives, saws, hammers, 
and nearly every kind of domestic 
utensil, and all sorts of tools. There 
is even a very complete set of instru- 
ments used by a dentist. In one of 
the cases is a bronze bell with its cord 
hanging outside, by which, if we 
choose, we may produce the same 
tinkle which used to summon some 
Pompeiian servant to her mistress. 
Little furnaces, bath-tubs, money- 
chests, and hundreds and hundreds 
of other articles, some of which look 
as if quite good enough for us to use, 
meet our eyes at every turn. In an- 
other room there are many cases con- 
taining articles of food which have 
been taken from the houses of Pom- 
peii. The loaves of bread, the beans, 
the wheat, and many other articles, 

are much shrunken and discolored, but the eggs look 
just as white and natural as when they were boiled, 
eighteen centuries ago. 

The sight of all these things makes us anxious 
to see the city that was so long buried out of sight 
of the world, and only brought to light again about 
a hundred years ago. A short ride by railway 
takes us from Naples to Pompeii, and, after being 
furnished with guides, we set out to explore this 
silent little city, whose citizens have not walked 
its streets since the year 79 A. D. 

This unfortunate place, which, as you all know, 
was entirely overwhelmed and covered up by a terri- 
ble shower of ashes during an eruption of Vesuvius, 
at the base of which it lies, is now in great part un- 
covered and open to view. The excavations which 
have been made at different times since 174S have 
laid bare a great many of the streets, houses, tem- 
ples, and public buildings. All the roofs, however, 
with the exception of that belonging to one small 
edifice, are gone, havingbeen burned or crushed in 




by the hot ashes. We shall find, however, the 
lower parts and the courts of nearly all the houses 
still standing, and many of them in good condition. 
The first thing which excites our surprise is the 
extreme narrowness of the streets. They all are 
well paved with large stones, and many of them 

have raised 
which leave 
barely room 
enough be- 
tween for two chariots or narrow wagons to pass 
each other. Here and there are high stepping- 
stones, by which the Pompeiians crossed the streets 
in rainy weather, when there must have been a 
great deal of running water in these narrow road- 
ways. Everywhere we see the ruts which the 
wheels have worn in the hard stones. 

There are remains of a great many private 
houses ; and some of these which belonged to rich 
people have their walls handsomely ornamented 
with paintings, some of them quite bright and dis- 
tinct, considering the long time that has elapsed 
since they were made. There are also a great many 
shops, all of them very small, and in some of these 
still remain the marble counters with the jars that 
held the wines and other things which were there 
for sale. In a bakery there remain some ovens, 
and large stone mills worked by hand-power or by 

donkeys. Along street after street we go, and 
into house after house. We enter large baths 
with great marble tanks and arrangements for 
steam heating. We visit temples, one of which, 
the temple of Isis, bears an inscription stating 
that, having been greatly injured by an earthquake 

in the year 63, 
it was restored 
at the sole ex- 
pense of a boy 
six years old, 
named N. Po- 
pidius Celsi- 
nus. There are 
two theaters 
and a great am- 
phitheater, or 
outdoor circus, 
besides an ex- 
tensive Forum, 
lic meetings. 
The more we 
walk through 
these quiet and 
deserted streets, 
and into these 
desolate ho uses, 
the shorter 
seem to us the 
eighteen cent- 
uries that have 
passed since 
any one lived 
here. It is scarcely possible to believe that it has 
been so long since these mills were turned, these 
ovens in use, or people came in and out of these 
shops. In some places there are inscriptions on 
the walls calling on the citizens to vote for such 
and such a person for a public office. 

A building has been erected as a museum, and 
in this are preserved plaster casts of some of the 
people who perished in the eruption. These 
people were covered up by the fine ashes just 
where they fell, and in the positions in which they 
died. These ashes hardened, and although the 
bodies, with the exception of a few bones, entirely 
disappeared in the course of ages, the hollow 
places left in the ashes were exactly the shape of 
the forms and features of the persons who had been 
there. An ingenious Italian conceived the idea 
of boring into these hollow molds and filling them 
up with liquid plaster of Pans. When this be- 
came dry and hard, the ashes were removed, and 
there were the plaster images of the persons whs> 
had been overtaken and destroyed before they 
could escape frc-m that terrible storm of hot ashes, 




which came down in quantities sufficient to cover 
a whole city from sight. In some of these figures 
the features are very distinct, and we can even 
distinguish the texture of their clothes and the 
rings upon their fingers. There are eight of these 
figures — men. women, and girls, besides the 
cast of a large dog. To stand and look upon the 
exact representation of these poor creatures who 
perished here seems still more to shorten the time 
between the present and the days when Pompeii 
was a lively, bustling city. Could this poor man 
with the leather belt around his waist, or this 
young girl with so peaceful an expression, have 
fallen down and died in these positions just forty- 
six years after the death of Christ ? 

We may walk until we are tired and we can not 
in one visit properly see all that is interesting in 
the excavated portions of Pompeii, and there is so 
much of the little city yet covered up, that, if the 
work of excavation goes on at the present rate, 
it will be about seventy years before the whole 
of Pompeii is laid open to the light. Men are kept 
steadily at work clearing out the ruins, and it 
may be that we are fortunate enough to be the 
first visitors to see some little room with painted 

It is the most natural thing in the world, after 
we have explored this ruined city, to desire to 
visit the volcano which ruined it. There it stands, 
the same old Vesuvius, just as able to cover up 
towns and villages with rivers of lava and clouds 
of ashes as it ever was. Fortunately it does not 
often choose to do so, and it is on the good-natured 
laziness of their mountain that the people who live 
in the plains all about it, and even on its sides, 
depend for their lives and safety. There are few 
parts of the world more thickly settled than the 
country about Vesuvius. 

The ascent of the mountain can be best made 
from Naples because we can go nearly all the way 
by railroad. Vesuvius is not always the same height, 
as the great cone of ashes that forms its summit 
varies somewhat before and after eruptions. It is 
generally about four thousand feet high, although 
a great eruption in 1872 is said to have knocked 
off a great deal of its top. At present it is steadily 
increasing, because, although there have been no 
great eruptions lately, the crater is constantly 
working, and throwing out stones and ashes. Still 
there is no danger if we are careful, and we shall 
go up and see what the crater of a real live vol- 


walls, or some jar, or piece of sculpture from cano looks like. The last part of our trip is made 

which the ashes and earth have just been removed, on what is called a funicular railway, which runs 

and which the eye of man has not seen since the nearly to the top of the great central cone, fifteen 

first century of the Christian era. hundred feet high, on which the cars are drawn 



up by wire ropes. This railway, however, does from below, is enough to make some people nerv- 

not take us quite all the way, and there are ous ; but unless we go too near the edge, or 

some hundred feet of loose ashes up which we expose ourselves to the fumes of the sulphurous 

must walk before we reach the top. The way gas which arises from the depths below, there is 


is very steep, we sometimes sink into the ashes 
nearly up to our knees, and altogether it is a 
piece of very tough work. But if any of us feel 
unequal to it, we can be taken up in chairs, each 
borne by two stout porters. We can not be sure 
what we are going to see when we are at the sum- 
mit ; smoke and vapor are constantly arising from 
the crater, and sometimes the wind blows this 
toward us, and makes it impossible to see into the 
great abyss ; but at other times we may approach 
quite near, and see the smoke and steam rising 
from below, while stones and masses of lava are 
thrown into the air, and fall back into the crater. 
The ground in some places is so hot that eggs 
may be roasted by simply allowing them to lie 
upon it. If we are not careful, some of us will 
have the soles of our shoes badly burned by walk- 
ing over these hot places. The sight of this great 
crater always burning, and smoking, and seething, 
and sometimes throwing the light of great fires up 

no particular danger on the top of Vesuvius. If 
the weather is fine, we get a grand view of the bay 
and the country around about ; and even if we have 
been frightened or tired, or have to get a pair of 
new shoes when we go down the mountain, the fact 
that we have looked into the crater of an active 
volcano is something that we shall always remem- 
ber with satisfaction. 

As long as we are anywhere on the Bay of Naples 
we need never expect to be rid of Vesuvius ; and, 
indeed, we need not wish to, for by day and night 
it is one of the finest features of the landscape. 
The people in Naples and all the surrounding 
country justly consider it the greatest attraction 
to travelers. Every hotel-keeper, no matter how 
little his house is, or where it is situated, has a 
picture made of it with Vesuvius smoking away in 
the background. The poor mountain is thus moved 
about from place to place, without any regard to 
its own convenience, in order that tourists may 




know that, if they come to anyone of these hotels, 
they may always have a good view of a grand 

One of our excursions will be a drive along the 
eastern shore of the bay to the little town of Sor- 
rento, and we shall find the road over which we go 
one of the most beautiful, if not the most beauti- 
ful, that we have ever seen in our lives. On one 
side are the mountains and hills covered with 
orange and lemon groves, olive and pomegranate 
trees, and vineyards ; and on the other, the beau- 
tiful blue waters of the bay, with its distant islands 
raising their misty purple outlines against the 
cloudless sky. Sorrento, the home of wood-carv- 
ing, as many of you may know, was a favorite 
summer resort of the ancients, and the old Romans 
used to come here for sea-bathing. Near by are 
the rocks on which, according to ancient tradition, 
the sirens used to sit and sing for the sole purpose, 
so far as we have been able to discover, of exciting 
the attention of the sailors on passing ships, and 
attracting them to the rocks where they might be 
wrecked. We can get boats and row beneath these 
very rocks, but never a siren shall we see, although 
there are great caves into which the water flows and 
into the gloomy and solemn depths of which we 
can row for quite along distance, and imagine, if we 
please, that the sirens are hiding behind the rocks 
in the dark corners, but knowing very well that, as 
we have heard about their tricks and their manners, 
it will be of no use for them to sing their songs to 
us. Even now the people of Sorrento have fancies 
of this sort, and many believe that the ravines near 
the town are inhabited by dwarfs. There are a 
great many interesting and pleasant things about 
Sorrento ; but, after all, the object which we shall 
look at the most and find the most enjoyable is 
our friend Vesuvius. The great volcano is many 
miles from us now, but as long as we are in 
this bay we can not avoid it. All day it sends 
up its beautiful curling column of steam, which 
rises high into the air and spreads out like a 
great white tree against the sky, while at night 
this high canopy of vapors is lighted at intervals to 
a rosy brightness by flashes of fire from the crater 
below. And from this point of view the volcano 
shows us at night another grand sight. Some dis- 
tance below the summit four streams of lava 
have broken out, and, after running some distance 
down the mountain-side, flow again into the 
ground and disappear. At night we can see that 
these lava streams are red-hot, and, viewed from 
afar, they look like four great rivers of fire. For 
months these have been steadily flowing, and after 
a time they will disappear, and the mountain will 
set itself to work to devise some other kind of fire- 
works with which to light up tire nightly scene. 

From Sorrento we shall take a little steamer to 
the island of Capri, in the most southern part 
of the bay. The town has no wharves at which 
a steamboat can lie, and so we take small boats 
and row out to wait for the steamboat which 
comes from Naples and stops here. The poet 
Tasso was born in Sorrento, and as we row 
along the river front of the town, the greater 
part of which is perched upon rocks high above 
the water, we shall float directly over his house,' or 
rather the foundations of it, which we can see a 
few feet below us through the clear, transparent 
water. Once the town extended much farther 
into the bay than it does now ; year by year the 
water encroached upon the land, and now there 
are but few places at the foot of the cliffs where 
there is room for houses. While we are waiting 
here, several boats filled with Italian boys, some of 
them very little fellows, row out to us and sing songs 
and choruses for our benefit, hoping for coppers in 
return. The little fellows sing with great vivacity, 
keeping admirable time and clapping their hands 
and wagging their heads, as if they were fired with 
the spirit of their songs. They are not at all like 
sirens, but they will charm some money from us ; 
and when we seem to have had enough music, 
they will offer to dive into the water after copper 
coins, each wrapped in a piece of white paper so 
that they can see it as it sinks. While engaged in 
this sport, the steamboat comes up, the steps are 
let down, we climb on board, and are off for Capri. 

This island has longbeen noted for two things, — 
its Blue Grotto and its pretty girls. We shall 
have to take some trouble to see the first, but the 
latter will spare themselves no trouble to see us, as 
we shall presently find. It is not often that any 
one examines an island so thoroughly as to go 
under it, over it, and around it, but this we shall 
do at Capri, and we shall begin by going under it. 

It is only when the weather is fine and the sea 
is smooth that the celebrated Blue Grotto can be 
visited, and as everybody who goes to the island 
desires to see this freak of Nature, the steamboat, 
when the weather is favorable, proceeds directly to 
the grotto. We steam for a mile or two along the 
edge of the island, which appears like a great 
mountain-top rising out of the water, and come to 
a stop near a rocky precipice. At the foot of this 
we see a little hole, about a yard high, and some- 
what wider. Near by lie a number of small boats, 
each rowed by one man, and as soon as our steam- 
boat nears the place, these boats are pulled toward 
us with all the power of their oarsmen, jostling 
and banging against each other, while the men 
shout and scold as each endeavors to be the first to 
reach the steamboat. In these boats we arc to 
entej the grotto, three of us in each, that being 



the greatest number they are allowed to can - )'. 
When we go down the side and step into the boats, 
we are told that we must all lie down flat in the 
bottom, for, if our heads or shoulders are above 
the sides of the boat, they may get an awkward 
knock in going through the hole in the rock, which 
is the only entrance to the grotto. As one boat 
after another pushes off from the steamer, the 
girls will probably nestle down very closely, but 
I think most of the boys will keep their faces 
turned upwards, and at least one eye open to see 


what is going to happen. The water of the bay 
seemed quite smooth when we were on the steam- 
boat, but there is some wind, and we now find 
that the waves are running tolerably high against 
the rocky precipice before us, and dashing in and 
out of the hole which we are to enter. As we ap- 
proach this opening the first boat is pulled rapidly 
toward it, but a wave which has just gone in now 
comes rolling out, driving the boat back, and 

banging it against the others. Some of us are 
frightened, and wish we were safe again on the 
steamboat, but there is no danger; these boatmen 
are very skillful, and if one of them were to allow 
his boat to upset, he would lose his reputation for- 
ever. Again the boat is pulled forward, this time 
with an in-going wave, and, as it reaches the 
entrance, the man jerks in his oars, seizes the roof 
and sides of the aperture with his hands, and with 
much dexterity and strength shoots his boat into 
the grotto. One after another, each boat enters, 
and as we all sit up and look about us, we 
find ourselves in a strange and wonderful 
place. It was worth while to be frightened 
and jostled a little to be in such a grand sea- 
grotto as this. The floor is a wide expanse 
of light blue water, not rough like the bay 
outside, but gently agitated by the waves at 
the mouth of the cave, and every ripple 
flecked with silvery light. Each boat, as it 
moves through the water, has an edging of 
this rippling light which drips and falls from 
the oars whenever they are raised. The 
grotto is quite large, and over all is a domed 
roof of rock, and this twinkles and sparkles 
with bluish light. It is indeed, what it has 
been named, a blue grotto. We naturally 
wonder where all this blue light comes from. 
There are no openings in the roof above, 
and as we look over 
toward the dark lit- 
tle hole by which we 
came in, we see that 
little light can enter 
there. The fact is 
that the opening 
into the cave under 
the water is much 
larger than it is 
above, and the 
bright sunlight that 
goes down into the 
water on the outside 
comes up through 
it into the grotto. 
It goes down like 
the golden sunlight 
it is. and it comes 
up into the grotto more like moonlight, but blue, 
sparkling, and brilliant. Everything about us seems 
weird and strange. One of the men, without a coat, 
stands up in his boat, and the blue light playing on 
the under part of his white shirt-sleeves curiously 
illuminates him. At the far end of the grotto is a 
little ledge, the only place where it is possible to 
land, and on this stands a man in thin cotton 
clothes who offers for a small sum of money to 




dive into the water. In a few moments down he 
goes, and we see him, a great silvery mass, sink 
far below us. Soon he comes up again, ready 
to repeat the performance as often as he is paid 
for it. 

The most beautiful description of the Blue 
Grotto is to be found in "The Improvisatore," a 
story by Hans Christian Andersen, in which his 
rare imagination has thrown into this grotto and 
over its walls and waters, a fairy-like light that is 
more beautiful perhaps than the blue light that 
comes up from the sea. There are persons who 
have read his account, and the beautiful story of 
the blind girl and her lover, who have afterward 
been disappointed when they saw the grotto for 
themselves ; but it is said that if such persons 
should come a second time the beauty of the place 
would grow upon them, and they would see the 
fairy-like scene that they have read about. I never 
visited the grotto the second time. 

After a while, our boats go out rather more easily 
than they came in, and we are soon on the steam- 
boat, and off for the Marina Grande, or principal 
landing-place of the island of Capri. There is no 
wharf, and we are taken off in small boats. The 
town of Capri is not here ; it is high up on the steep 
hills above us ; but there are some houses and one 
or two hotels scattered about near the water, and 
very soon the pretty girls come down to meet us, 
and right glad they are to see us. Some of 
them are as young as fourteen, and some are as 
old as twenty ; many of them are really quite 
handsome, with regular features, large, dark eyes, 
and that clear, lightly-browned complexion which 
some people think more beautiful than white. 
They are plainly, but some of them prettily, 
dressed, and all have bare heads and bare feet. 
Nearly all of them have strings of coral, which 
they are not slow to urge us to buy, and we find 
that it is because they hope to make a little money 
by selling these, that these pretty girls are so glad to 
see us. Others are leading little donkeys on which 
we may ride to the town above. But we shall notice 
that not one of them is begging. The people of 
this island are very industrious, and very inde- 

Capri was named by the Romans Capreae, the 
island of goats, but I do not know whether this 
name was given because there were a good many 
goats here, or because it was a good place for goats. 
The latter would have been an excellent reason, for 
the island is all "up hill and down dale." Until 
very recently there were no roads upon the island 
for carriages or wheeled vehicles, and if people 
did not walk up and down the steep paths which 
led everywhere, they rode upon donkeys or horses ; 
but latelv roads have been constructed which wind 

backward and forward along the hill-sides and 
precipices to the two small towns upon the island, 
Capri and Anacapri. Some of us will take pony 
carriages up the road to Capri ; others will walk ; 
and others will ride donkeys, each attended by a 
woman or a girl, who steers the little beast by the 
tail, or encourages it with a switch. The island 
is about half a mile high, and after we reach the 
little town and have had our dinner we prepare 
to scatter ourselves over its surface. 

We shall find this island one of the finest places 
for walks, rambles, and scrambles that we have yet 
seen. After we reach the town, there is no more 
carriage road, and the principal thoroughfares 
which lead through the little fields and gardens, 
and by occasional scattered houses, are about five 
feet wide, and paved with small round cobble- 
stones. These are not very pleasant to walk on, 
but we shall soon discover that if these roads were 
smooth, we should not be able to go up and down 
them at all. We shall see here very funny little 
fields of grain, beans, and other crops. Some of 
the wheat- fields are not much bigger than the floor 
of a large room in one of our dwelling-houses. 
The people are poor, and they cultivate every spot 
of land on which anything useful will grow. A 
half-hour's walk above the town will take us to 
some high points from which we get beautiful 
views of the Mediterranean to the south, and the 
Bay of Naples to the north, while away to the west 
we can see the island of Ischia, looking so peace- 
ful under the soft blue sky that no one could im- 
agine that only two years ago it had been visited 
by a terrible earthquake, in which hundreds of 
people perished. From one of the high places to 
which we can walk, we look down the precipitous 
rocks to the sea, far below us ; and out in the water, 
entirely disconnected with the land, we see three 
great pointed masses of rock, some little distance 
from the shore. On the very top of one of these 
is a small house or tower built there by the 
ancient Romans. What it was intended for, on 
this almost inaccessible place, is not exactly known, 
but it is believed that it was built for a tomb. I 
suppose some of you think that it is a great deal 
harder to rid ourselves of the Romans than of Vesu- 
vius, but it can not be helped ; we shall find that 
the)- have been wherever we wish to go. On 
the land side of this promontory, we look down 
into a rocky valley called the Vale of Matrimony, 
near the bottom of which is a great natural arch, 
or bridge of rock. The name of this vale is a 
corruption of a name the Romans gave it, and it 
does not look as if it had anything to do with 
matrimony. Another of our walks will take us to 
a very high point, on which are some ruins of the 
Villa of Tiberius, the Roman Emperor. This 



gentleman, having involved himself in a great 
deal of trouble at home, concluded to retire to 
this rocky island, where he would be safe from his 
enemies, and here he lived until his death in the 
year 37 A. d. Capri must have been a very different 
place then as far as the manners and customs of its 
inhabitants are concerned. The Emperor built 
no less than twelve handsome villas in various parts 
of the island, and made all necessary arrangements 
to enjoy himself as much as possible. The villa 
which we are visiting was one of the largest, and 
the remains of vaulted chambers and corridors 
show that it must have been a very fine building. 
A short distance below it, is the top of a precipice, 
from which, tradition says, Tiberius used to have 
those persons whom he had condemned to death 
thrown down into the sea. This was not an un- 
usual method of execution with the Romans, and 
if Tiberius really adopted it in this place, his vic- 
tims must have met with a certain and speedy death. 

If any of us really desire to see a hermit, we can 
now be gratified, for one of that profession has 
his dwelling here. He probably does live here 
all alone, but he does not look like our ordinary 
ideal of a hermit. He will be glad to receive 
some coppers, and also to have us write our 
autographs in a book which he keeps for the 
purpose. A hermit autograph-collector in the 
ruined villa of a Roman Emperor, on the top of a 
mountainous island in the Mediterranean, is some- 
thing we did not expect to meet with on our 

Wherever we go in our walks about the island 
we shall meet with the pretty girls. They are 
always at work, but, unfortunately, they are some- 
times engaged in much harder labor than that of 
selling coral or leading donkeys. Often we may- 
see lines of girls, who, if nicely dressed, and with 
shoes and stockings on, would do credit in appear- 
ance to any boarding-school, each carrying on her 
head a wooden tray containing stones or mortar 
for masons who are building a house or wall ; and 
at any time they may be seen going up and down 
the steep paths of the island carrying heavy 
loads upon their heads. As I said before, the 
people here are generally poor, and everybody 
who can, old and young, must work. Why there 
are so few boys in comparison with the girls, I do 
not know. It may be that the boys go away to 
other parts of the world where they can find work 
that will pay them better than anything on their 
native island. 

I said, when we first came here, that we should 
go under, over, and around this island ; and when 
we have rambled through the vallevs and over 

the hills, and have paid a visit to Anacapri, the 
other little town, we may say that we have been 
over it ; when we visited the Blue Grotto, we 
went under it ; and now we shall go around it, by 
taking boats and making what is called the 
giro, or circuit of the island. This trip will re- 
quire several hours, and we shall see that the 
island of Capri is rather rich in grottoes, and that 
the monotony of such water caverns is varied by 
having them of different colors. One of them is 
the White Grotto, which would doubtless be consid- 
ered very pretty, if it were the only one here. But 
afterward we shall see the Green Grotto, which is 
very beautiful indeed, in which the water and the 
rocks are of a fine green hue. When we reach the 
three high rocks, which we saw from above, we 
shall see that the central one is pierced by an 
arched opening, through which the boatman will 
row our boats. 

And now, having spent as much time on this 
charming island as we think we can spare, we 
pack up the valises and other light baggage which 
we brought with us, and make everything ready to 
leave the next morning. But when the next 
morning comes we do not leave. The island of 
Capri is not a place to which you can come when 
you choose and from which you can depart when 
you feel like it. The day is fine, the sun is 
bright, and the sky is blue ; but there is a strong 
wind blowing, and the bay is full of waves. They 
are not very high waves, to be sure, but anything 
which has the slightest resemblance to rough 
weather is sufficient to make the captains of the 
small steamers which ply between Naples and 
Capri decide to suspend operations until the bay is 
smooth again. If people are disappointed and 
have to stay where they do not wish to stay, they 
must blame the winds, and not the captains, who, 
if told that an American or English sailor would 
think nothing of the little gales that arc sufficient 
to keep them at their anchorage, would probably 
shrug their shoulders and say that they were not 
American or English sailors, and were very glad 
of it. 

Sometimes visitors are kept at Capri a week 
waiting for a steamer. It is possible to go over 
to Sorrento in a fishing boat, but the roughest 
part of the bay lies between us and the home of 
the wood-carvers, and it is not over such water 
and in little boats that I propose to personally 
conduct my young friends. So we may congratu- 
late ourselves that if we have to be imprisoned for 
a time on an island, there is no pleasanter one for 
the purpose than Capri, and shall therefore con- 
tentedly wait to see what happens next. 





By H. H. (Helen Jackson.) 


The other day, as I 
was walking through 
a side street in one 
of our large cities, I 
heard these words 
ringing out from a 
room so crowded with 
people that I could but 
just see the auction- 
eer's face and uplifted 
hammer above the heads of the crowd. 

"Going! Going! Go — ing ! Gone!" and 
down came the hammer with a sharp rap. 

I do not know how or why it was, but the words 
struck me with a new force and significance. I 
had heard them hundreds of times before, with 
only a sense of amusement. This time they 
sounded solemn. 

"Going! Going! Gone!" 
"That is the way it is with life," I said to my- 
self; — "with time." 

This world is a sort of auction-room ; we do not 
know that we are buyers ; we are, in fact, more like 
beggars ; we have brought no money to exchange 
for precious minutes, hours, days, or years ; they 
are given to us. There is no calling out of terms, 
no noisy auctioneer, no hammer ; but, neverthe- 
less, the time is " going ! going ! gone ! " 

The more I thought of it, the more solemn 
did the words sound, and the more did they seem 
to me a good motto to remind one of the value 
of time. 

When we are young we think old people are 
preaching and prosing when they say so much 
about it, — when they declare so often that days, 
weeks, even years, are short. I can remember 
when a holiday, a whole day long, appeared to me 
an almost inexhaustible play-spell ; when one after- 
noon, even, seemed an endless round of pleasure, 
and the week that was to come seemed longer 
than does a whole year now. 

One needs to live many years before one learns 
how little time there is in a year, — how little, in- 
deed, there will be even in the longest possible 



life, — how many things one will still be obliged 
to leave undone. 

But there is one thing, boys and girls, that 
you can realize, if you will try — if you will stop 
and think about it a little ; and that is, how fast 
and how steadily the present time is slipping away. 
However long life may seem to you, as you look 
forward to the whole of it, the present hour has 
only sixty minutes, and minute by minute, second 
by second, it is " going! going ! gone ! " If you 
gather nothing from it as it passes, it is " gone " 
forever. Nothing is so utterly, hopelessly lost as 
" lost time." It makes me unhappy when I look 
back and see how much time I have wasted ; how 
much I might have learned and done if I had but 
understood how short is the longest hour. 

All the men and women who have made the 
world better, happier, or wiser for their having lived 
in it, have done so by working- diligently and persist- 
ently. Yet, I am certain that not even one of these, 
when "looking backward from his manhood's 
prime, saw not the specter of his mis-spent time." 

Now, don't suppose I am so foolish as to think 
that all the preaching in the world can make any- 
thing look to young eyes as it looks to old eyes ; 
not a bit of it. 

But think about it a little ; don't let time slip away 
by the minute, hour, day, without getting some- 
thing out of it ! Look at the clock now and then, 
and listen to the pendulum, saying of every min- 
ute, as it flies, — "Going! going! gone ! " 

Going ! Going ! Gone ! 

Going ! going ! gone ! Is this an auction, here. 
Where nobody bids, and nobody buys, and there 
is no auctioneer? 

No hammer, no crowd, no noise, no push of 

women and men — 
And yet the chance that is passing now will 

never come back again .' 

Going ! going ! gone ! Here is a morn of June, — 

Dew, and fragrance, and color, and light, and 
a million sounds a-tune. 

Oh, look ! Oh, listen ! Be wise, and take this 
wonderful thing, — 

A jewel such as you will not find in the treas- 
ury of a king ! 

Going! going! gone! What is next on the list? 
An afternoon of purple and gold, fair as an 

And large enough to hold all good things under 

the sun. 
Bid it in now, and crowd it full with lessons, 

and work, and fun ! 

Going ! going ! gone ! Here is a year to be 

A whole magnificent year held out to every lass 
and lad ! 

Days, and weeks, and months ! Joys, and labors, 
and pains ! 

Take it, spend it, buy with it, lend it, and pre- 
sently count your gains. 

Going ! going ! gone ! The largest lot comes last ; 
Here, with its infinite unknown wealth is offered 

a life-time vast ! 
Out of it may be wrought the deeds of hero and 

Come, bid ! Come, bid ! lest a brave bright 

youth fade out to a useless age ! 

^ n mw^fi%^^^ ff\ lTr ^f 

voh. XIII.— iS. 





[A Historical Biography ] 

By Horace E. Scudder. 

Chapter IV. 


The story of George Washington's struggle 
with the colt must belong to his older boyhood, 
when he was at home on a vacation ; for we have 
seen that he had to have his pony led when he was 
nine years old ; and after his father's death, which 
occurred when he was eleven, he went away to 
school. When Augustine Washington died, he 
divided his several estates among his children : 
but his widow was to have the oversight of the 
portions left to the younger children until they 
should come of age. Lawrence Washington re- 
ceived an estate called Hunting Creek, located near 
a stream of the same name which flowed into the 
Potomac ; and Augustine, his brother, received the 
old homestead near Bridge's Creek ; the mother 
and younger children continued to live near Fred- 

Both Lawrence and Augustine Washington 
married soon after their father's death, and as 
there chanced to be a good school near Bridge's 
Creek, George Washington now made his home 
with his brother Augustine, staying with him till 
he was nearly sixteen years old. 

He was to be, like his father, a Virginian 
planter ; and I suppose that had something to do 
with the kind of training which Mr. Williams, the 
school-master at Bridge's Creek, gave him. At any 
rate, it is easy to see what he studied. Most boys' 
copy-books and exercise-books are early destroyed, 
but it chances that those of George Washington 
have been kept, and they are very interesting. 
The handwriting in them is the first thing to be 
noticed, — round, fair, and bold, the letters large 
like the hand that formed them, and the lines 
running straight and even. In the arithmetics 
and book-keeping manuals which we study at 
school, there are printed forms of receipts, bills, 
and other ordinary business papers; but in Wash- 
ington's school days, the teacher probably showed 
the boys how to draw these up, and gave them, 
also, copies of longer papers, like leases, deeds, and 
wills. There were few lawyers in the colon) - , and 
every gentleman was expected to know many 
forms of documents which in these days are left 
to our lawyers. 

Washington's exercise-books have many pages 
of these forms, written out carefully by the boy. 
Sometimes he made ornamental letters such as 
clerks were wont to use in drawing up such papers. 
This was not merely exercise in penmanship ; it 
was practice work in all that careful keeping of 
accounts and those business methods which were 
sure to be needed by one who had to manage a great 
plantation. George W T ashington was to manage 
something greater, though he did not then know it ; 
and the habits which he formed at this time were 
of inestimable value to him in his manhood. 

The manuscript book which contains these ex- 
ercises has also a list of a hundred and ten " Rules 
of Civility and Decent Behavior in Company and 
Conversation." They were probably not made 
up by the boy, but copied from some book or 
taken down from the lips of his mother or teacher. 
They sound rather stiff to us, and we should be 
likely to think the boy a prig who attempted to be 
governed by them : but it was a common thing in 
those days to set such rules before children, and 
George Washington, with his liking for regular, 
orderly ways — which is evident in his handwrit- 
ing — probably used the rules and perhaps com- 
mitted them to memory, to secure an even temper 
and self-control. Here are a few of them : 

"Every action in company ought to be with 
some sign of respect to those present. 

"When you meet with one of greater quality 
than yourself, stop and retire, especially if it be at 
a door or any strait place, to give way for him to 

" They that are in dignity or in office have in 
all places precedency ; but whilst they are young, 
they ought to respect those that are their equals 
in birth or other qualities, though they have no 
public charge. 

" Strive not with your superiors in argument, 
but always submit your judgment to others with 

" Be not hasty to believe flying reports to the 
disparagement of any. 

" Take all admonitions thankfully, in what time 
or place soever given ; but afterwards, not being 
culpable, take a time or place convenient to let 
him know it that gave them. 

" Think before you speak; pronounce not im- 



perfectly, nor bring out your words too hastily, 
but orderly and distinctly. 

" Speak not evil of the absent, for it is unjust. 

"Make no show of taking great delight in your 
victuals; feed not with greediness ; cut your bread 
with a knife; lean not on the table; neither find 
fault with what you eat. 

" Be not angry at table, whatever happens, and if 
you have reason to be so, show it not; put on a cheer- 
ful countenance, especially if there be strangers, 
for good humor makes one dish of meat a feast. 

" Let your recreations be manful, not sinful. 

" Labor to keep alive in your breast that little 
spark of celestial fire called conscience." 

These are not unwise rules ; they touch on 
things great and small. The difficulty with most 
boys would be to follow a hundred and ten of 
them. They serve, however, to show what was 
the standard of good manners and morals among 
those who had the training of George Washington. 
But, after all, the best of rules would have done 
little with poor stuff; it was because this boy had 
a manly and honorable spirit that he could be 
trained in manly and honorable ways. He was a 
passionate but not a vicious boy, and so, since his 
passion was kept under control, he was all the 
stronger for it. The boy that could throw a stone 
across the Rappahannock was taught to be gentle, 
and not violent; the tamer of the blooded sorrel 
colt controlled himself, and that was the reason he 
could control his horse. 

With all his strength and agility, George Wash- 
ington was a generous and fair-minded boy ; 
otherwise he would not have been chosen, as he 
often was, to settle the disputes of his companions. 
He was a natural leader. In his boyhood there 
was plenty of talk of war. What is known as 
King George's War had just broken out between 
the English and the French ; and there were al- 
ways stories of fights with the Indians in the back 
settlements. It was natural, therefore, that boys 
should play at fighting, and George Washington 
had his small military company, which he drilled 
and maneuvered. 

Besides, his brother Lawrence had been a sol- 
dier, and he must have heard many tales of war 
when he visited him. Thus it came about that he 
was for throwing his books aside and entering His 
Majesty's service. He was, however, too young 
for the army — he was only fifteen : but Lawrence 
Washington encouraged him, and as he knew 
many officers in the navy, he had no difficulty in 
obtaining for his young brother a warrant as 
midshipman in the navy. 

It is said that the young middy's luggage was 

on board a man-of-war anchored in the Potomac, 
when Madam Washington, who had all along been 
reluctant to have her son go to sea, now declared 
finally that she could not give her consent to the 
scheme. He was still young and at school ; per- 
haps, also, this Virginian lady, living in a country 
where the people were not much used to the sea, 
looked with concern at a profession which would 
take her oldest boy into ail the perils of the ocean. 
The influence which finally decided her to refuse 
her consent is said to have been this letter, which 
she received from her brother, then in England : 

" I understand that you are advised, and have some thoughts of 
putting your son George to sea. I think he had better be put appren- 
tice to a tinker, for a common sailor before the mast has by no means 
the common liberty of the subject; for they will press him from a ship 
where he has fifty shillings a month, and make him take twenty- 
three, and cut and slash, and use him like a negro, or rather like a 
dog. And, as to any considerable preferment in the navy, it is not 
to be expected, as there are always so many gaping for it here who 
have interest, and he has none. And if he should get to be master 
of a Virginia ship (which it is very difficult to do), a planter that has 
three or four hundred acres of land, and three or four slaves, if he be 
industrious, may live more comfortably, and leave his family in 
better bread, than such a master of a ship can." 

1 1 seems possible from this letter that the plan was 
to put George into the navy that he might come 
to command a merchant ship ; but however that 
may be, the plan was given up, and the boy went 
back to school for another year. During that time 
he applied himself especially to the study of sur- 
veying. In a country of great estates, and with a 
new, almost unexplored territory coming into the 
hands of planters, surveying was a very important 
occupation. George Washington, with his love 
of exactness and regularity, his orderly ways and 
his liking for outdoor life, was greatly attracted by 
the art. Five or six years must elapse before he 
could come into possession of the property which 
his father had left him ; his mother was living on 
it and managing it. Meanwhile, the work of sur- 
veying land would give him plenty of occupation, 
and bring him in money ; so he studied geometry 
and trigonometry ; he made calculations, and he 
surveyed all the fields about the school-house, 
plotting them and setting clown everything with 
great exactness. 

I wonder if his sudden diligence in study and 
outdoor work was due at all to an affair which 
happened about this time. He was a tall, large- 
limbed, shy boy of fifteen when he fell in love with 
a girl whom he seems to have met when living 
with his brother Augustine. He calls her, in one 
of his letters afterward, a "lowland beauty," and 
tradition makes her to have been a Miss Grimes, 
who later married, and was the mother of one of 
the young soldiers who served under Washington 
in the War for Independence. Whatever may have 
been the exact reason that his love affair did not 




prosper — whether he was too shy to make his 
mind known, or so silent as not to show himself to 
advantage, or so discreet with grave demeanor as 
to hold himself too long in reserve, it is impos- 
sible now to say ; but I suspect that one effect was 
to make him work the harder. Sensible people 
do not expect boys of fifteen to be playing the 
lover ; and George Washington was old for his 
years, and not likely to appear like a spooney\ 

Chapter A". 


ALTHOUGH, after his father's death, George 
Washington went to live with his brother Augustine 
for the sake of going to Mr. Williams's school, he 
was especially under the care of his eldest brother. 
Lawrence Washington, like other oldest sons of 
Virginia planters, was sent to England to be edu- 
cated. After his return to America, there was war 
between England and Spain, and Admiral Vernon 
of the English navy captured one of the Spanish 
towns in the West Indies. The people in the 
American colonies looked upon the West Indies 
somewhat differently from the way in which we 
regard them at present. Not only were some of 
the islands on the map of America, but like the 
colonies, they were actually a part of the British 
possessions. A brisk trade was kept up between 
them and the mainland ; and indeed, the Bermudas 
were once within the bounds of Virginia. 

So, when Admiral Vernon needed reinforce- 
ments, he very naturally looked to the colonies 
close at hand. A regiment was to be raised and 
sent out to Jamaica as part of the British forces. 
Lawrence Washington, who was a spirited young 
fellow, obtained a commission as captain in a 
company of this regiment, and went to the West 
Indies, where he fought bravely in the engage- 
ments which followed. When the war was over 
he returned to Virginia, so in love with his new- 
profession that he determined to go to England, 
with the regiment to which his company was at- 
tached, and to continue as a soldier in His Majesty's 

Just then there happened two events which 
changed his plans and perhaps prevented him from 
some day fighting against an army commanded 
by his younger brother. He fell in love with Anne 
Fairfax, and before they were married, his father 
died. This left his mother alone with the care of 
a young family, and made him also at once the 
owner of a larger estate. His father, as I have said, 
bequeathed to him Hunting Creek, and there, 
after his marriage, he went to live, as a planter, 
like his father before him. For the time, at anv 

rate, he laid aside his sword, but he kept up his 
friendship with officers of the army and the navy; 
and out of admiration for the admiral under whom 
he had served, he changed the name of his estate 
from Hunting Creek to Mount Vernon. 

The house which Lawrence Washington built was 
after the pattern of many Virginian houses of the 
day, — two stories in height, with a porch running 
along the front, but with its two chimneys, one at 
each end, built inside instead of outside. Possibly 
this was a notion which Lawrence Washington 
brought with him from England ; perhaps he 
did it to please his English bride. The site which 
he chose was a pleasant one, upon a swelling ridge, 
wooded in many places, and high above the Poto- 
mac, which swept in great curves above and below, 
almost as far as the eye could see. Beyond, on the 
other side, were the Maryland fields and woods. 

A few miles below Mount Vernon was another 
plantation, named Belvoir, and it was here that 
William Fairfax lived, whose daughter Anne had 
married Lawrence Washington. Fairfax also had 
been an officer in the English army, and at one 
time had been governor of one of the Bahama 
islands. Now he had settled in Virginia, where his 
family had large landed possessions. 

He was a man of education and wealth, and he 
had been accustomed to plenty of society. He 
had no mind to bury himself in the backwoods 
of Virginia, and with his grown-up sons and 
daughters about him, he made his house the cen- 
ter of gayety. It was more richly furnished than 
most of the houses of the Virginia planters. The 
floors were covered with carpets, a great luxury 
in those days ; the rooms were lighted with wax 
candles ; and he had costly wines in his cellars. 
Servants in livery moved about to wait on the 
guests, and Virginia gentlemen and ladies flocked 
to Belvoir. The master of the house was an offi- 
cer of the King, for he was collector of customs for 
the colony, and president of the governor's council. 
British men-of-war sailed up the Potomac and 
anchored in the stream, and the officers came 
ashore to be entertained by the Honorable William 

The nearness of Mount Vernon and the close 
connection between the two families led to con- 
stant passage between the places. The guests of 
one were the guests of the other, and George 
Washington, coming to visit his brother Lawrence, 
was made at home at Belvoir also. He was a 
reserved, shy, awkward schoolboy. He was only 
fifteen when he. was thrown into the gay society 
there, but he was tall, large-limbed, and altogether 
much older and graver than his years would seem 
to indicate. He took his place among the men in 
sports and hunting, and though he was silent and 


2 77 

not very lively in his manner, there was something 
in his serious, strong face which made him a 
favorite among the ladies. 

He met at Belvoir William Fairfax's son, George 
William, who had recently come home from Eng- 
land, and was just married. He was six years 
older than George Washington, but that did not 
prevent them from striking up a warm friend- 
ship, which continued through life. The young 
bride had a sister with her, and this lively girl, 
Miss Cary, teased and played with the big, over- 
grown schoolboy. I do not believe he told her 
what he wrote to one of 
his boy friends, — 
that h 

Then, later on, just as he was about to be married 
to a fine lady, she discovered that she could have a 
duke instead, and so broke the engagement and 
threw Lord Fairfax aside. 

It chanced that his mother had all this while an 
immense property in Virginia, nearly a fifth of the 
present State, which the good-natured King Charles 
the Second had given to her. This was now Lord 
Fairfax's, and he had appointed his cousin, William 
Fairfax, his agent to look after it. So, when he found 
all London pitying him or smiling at him behind 
his back, he left England to visit his American es- 
tate. That had occurred eight years before George 
Washington's visit to Belvoir. And now Lord Fair- 
fax was back again, for his taste of Virginian life had 
so charmed him that he had determined to turn 
his back on London and plunge into the wilderness 
of the New World. 


his time very pleasantly if all this merriment and 
young society had not kept him constantly think- 
ing of his " lowland beauty," and wishing himself 
with her ! 

But his most notable friend was Thomas, sixth 
Lord Fairfax, who was at this time staying at Bel- 
voir.* He had been a brilliant young man, of uni- 
versity education, an officer in a famous regiment, 
and at home in the fashionable and literary world 
of London. But he had suffered two terrible dis- 
appointments. His mother and his grandmother, 
when he was a boy, had so misused the property 
which descended to him from the Fairfaxes that 
when he came of age it had been largely lost. 

He was at this time nearly sixty yearsof age, gaunt 
and grizzled in appearance, and eccentric in many 
of his ways ; but people generally laid that to the 
disappointments which he had met. He was the 
great man at Belvoir; the younger people looked 
with admiration upon the fine-mannered gentleman 
who had been at court, who knew Steele and Addi- 
son and other men of letters, and had now come out 
into the backwoods to live upon his vast estate, 
the greatest in all Virginia. 

* He was of the family of the famous Thomas, third Lord Fairfax, who lived in Cromwell's day, and was the head of that house of 
fighters who took first the side of Parliament and afterward the side of the King. 




His lordship, meanwhile, cared little for the gay 
society which gathered at Bclvoir ; he was courtly 
to the ladies, but they saw little of him. He liked 
best the free, out-of-doors life in the woods and 
the excitement of the hunt. It was this that 
had pleased him when he first visited Virginia, and 
that now had brought him back for the rest of his 


life. It was not strange, therefore, that a friend- 
ship should spring up between him and the tall, 
grave lad, who was so strong in limb, who sat his 
horse so firmly and rode after the hounds so well. 
They hunted together, and the older man came to 
know familiarly and like the strong young Amer- 
ican, George Washington. 

What if, in the still night, as they sat over their 
camp fire, the shy boy had told his gaunt, grizzled 
friend the secret of the trouble which kept him 
constrained and silent in the midst of the bright 
company at Belvoir ! I fancy this same friend, 
schooled in Old World experiences and disappoint- 
ments, knew how to receive this fresh confidence. 

Out of this friendship came a very practical ad- 
vantage. Neither Lord Fairfax nor his cousin 
William knew the bounds and extent of the lands 
beyond the Blue Ridge, which formed an impor- 
tant part of his lordship's domain. Moreover, 
rumors came that persons from the northward had 
found out the value of these lands, and that one 

and another had settled upon them, without asking 
leave or troubling themselves about Lord Fairfax's 
title. At that time the government had done very 
little toward surveying the country which lay beyond 
the borders of population. It was left to any one 
who claimed such land to find out exactly where it 
was, and of what it consisted. 

Lord Fairfax therefore determined to have his 
property surveyed, and he gave the commission to 
his young friend George Washington, who had 
shown not only that he knew how to do the tech- 
nical work, but that he had those qualities of 
courage, endurance, and perseverance which were 
necessary. The young surveyor had just passed 
his sixteenth birthday, but, as I have said, he was 
so serious and self-possessed that his companions 
did not treat him as a real boy. He did not go 
alone, for his friend George William Fairfax went 
with him. As the older of the two, and bearing 
the name of Fairfax, he was the head of the ex- 
pedition, but the special work of surveying was to 
be done by George Washington. 

Chapter VI. 


It was in March, 1748, just a month aftei 
George Washington was sixteen years old, that 
the two young men set out on their errand. They 
were only absent four or five weeks, but it was a 
sudden and rough initiation into hard life. They 
were mounted, and crossed the Blue Ridge by 
Ashby's Gap, entering the Shenandoah valley and 
making their first important halt at a spot known 
as Lord Fairfax's Quarters. The term "quarters" 
was usually applied at that time to the part of a 
plantation where the negro slaves lived. Here, in 
a lonely region near the river, about twelve miles 
south of the present town of Winchester, Lord 
Fairfax's overseer had charge of a number of 
slaves who were cultivating the ground. 

The next day after reaching this place, the young 
surveyor and his companion sent their baggage 
forward to a Captain Hite's, and followed more 
slowly, working as they went at their task of laying 
off land. At the end of a hard day they had sup- 
per, and were ready for bed. As young gentlemen, 
they were shown into a chamber, and Washington, 
who had known nothing of frontier life, proceeded 
as at home. He stripped himself very orderly, he 
says in the diary which he kept, and went to bed. 
What was his dismay, instead of finding a comfort- 
able bed like that to which he was used, to discover 
nothing but a little dirty straw, " without sheet or 
anything else, but only one threadbare blanket, 
with double its weight of vermin." He was glad 
to be out of it, and to dress himself and sleep 












7201-1'" Kirigston^--?^ 

o n ,r- 










<y "55, 


ORT ^ 

"".sne: ™. , 


but had plenty of adventure besides. They 
camped out ip the midst of wild storms ; they 
swam their horses over swollen streams ; they 
shot deer and wild turkeys ; they visited one 
of His Majesty's justices of the peace, as Wash- 
ington takes pains to note. He invited them 
to supper, but expected them to eat it with 
their hunting-knives, for he had neither knife 
nor fork on his table ; and when they were 
near no house they prepared their own suppers, 
using forked sticks for spits, and chips for plates. 
At one place they had the good luck to be 
on hand when thirty Indians who had been on 
the war-path came in. "We had some liquor 
with us," Washington says, "of which we gave 
them a part. This elevating their spirits, put 
them in the humor of dancing." So they had 
a grand war-dance, to the music of a native 







^ Mr 

nore 4-- 1 -- ^ 


^ life, 


in his clothes like his companions. 
After that, he knew better how to 
manage, and lay wrapped before the fire, especially b a n d 
glad when the fire was out-of-doors and the blue which 
sky overhead formed the counterpane of his bed. consist- 
The party followed the Shenandoah to its junc- edoftwo 
tion with the Potomac, and then ascended that pieces, 
river and went some seventy miles up the South 1 — a pot 
Branch, returning over the mountains. They ' half full 
were hard at work at the business of surveving, ofwater, 



hi, f m 






over which a deer-skin was stretched, and a gourd 
with some shot in it was used as a rattle. 

This month of roughing it was a novelty to the 
young Virginian. He was used to living with gen- 
tlemen, and he shrunk a little from the discomforts 
which he met. He saw the rude life of the new 
settlers, and heard them jabbering in the German 
tongue, which he could not understand. It was a 
stormy, cold month, one of the hardest of the 
year in which to lead an 
outdoor life. Still, 
he was earning 
his living, and 
that made 

it tolera- /Mk b " / y Md 
ble. He 




was paid according to the amount of work he did, 
and sometimes he was able to earn as much as 
twenty dollars in a day. 

Washington kept a brief diary while he was on 
the excursion, and very likely he showed it to Lord 
Fairfax on his return; at any rate, he gave him an 
account of his adventures, and no doubt expanded 
the entry at the beginning of the diary, where he 
writes: " Rode to his Lordship's quarter, about four 
miles higher up the river Shenandoah. We went 
through most beautiful groves of sugar-trees, and 
spent the best part of the day in admiring the trees 
and the richness of the land." Very likely Lord 

Fairfax had himself visited his quarters before this, 
but I think he must have been further stirred by 
the reports which Washington brought of the 
country, for not long after he went to live there. 

The place known as Lord Fairfax's Quarters, he 
now called Greenway Court, and he hoped to build 
a great manor-house in which he should live, after 
the style of an English earl, surrounded by his 
tenants and servants. He never built more than a 
house for his steward, however. It was a long 
story-and-a-half limestone building, the roof 
sloping forward so as to form a cover for 
the veranda, which ran the whole length 
of the house. The great Virginia 
outside chimneys were the homes 
of martins and swallows, and the 
house itself sheltered the stew- 
ard and such chance guests 
as came into the wilderness. 
Upon the roof were two wood- 
en belfries ; the bells were to 
call the slaves to work or 
to sound an alarm in case 
of an attack by Indians. 

Lord Fairfax built for his 
private lodging a rough cabin 
only about twelve feet square, 
a short distance from the larger 
building. Here he lived the rest 
of his days. L T pon racks on the 
walls were his guns, and close at 
hand choice books with which he 
kept alive his old taste for literature. 
His hounds walked in and out ; and 
hither, too, came backwoodsmen and In- 
dians. He spent his time hunting and appor- 
tioning his great estate amongst the settlers, 
fixing boundary lines, making out leases, and 
arranging settlements with his tenants. He gave 
freely to all who came, but his own life was plain 
and simple. He kept up, however, in a curious 
way, his old relation with the fine world of Lon- 
don ; for, though he dressed as a hunter, and 
almost as a backwoodsman, he sent every year to 
London for new suits of clothes of the most fash- 
ionable sort. 

I suppose this was in part to enable him to ap- 
pear in proper dress when he went to his friends' 
plantations ; but perhaps also he wished to remind 
himself that he was still an English gentleman, 
and might, whenever he chose, go back to the Old 
World. But he never did go. He lived to see his 
young friend become general of the army raised 
to defend the colonies against the unlawful use of 
authority by the British crown. Lord Fairfax 
never believed it unlawful ; but he was an old 
man; he took no part in the struggle, but he lived 

1886. ] 



to hear of the surrender of Cornwallis and the 
downfall of the British power in the colonies ; he 
received messages of love from the victorious 
general whom he had first started in the world ; 
and he died soon after — on December 12, 1781 — 
ninety years old. 

It was this commission from Lord Fairfax to 
survey his lands which made the beginning of 
Washington's public life. His satisfactory execu- 
tion of the task brought him an appointment 
from the governor as public surveyor. This 
meant that, when he made surveys, he could re- 
cord them in the regular office of the county, and 
they would stand as authority if land were bought 
and sold. For three years now, he devoted him- 
self to this pursuit, spending all but the winter 
months, when he could not well carry on field 
work, in laying out tracts of land up and down the 
Shenandoah Valley and along the Potomac. 

A great deal depended on the accuracy of 
surveys; for if the surveyor made mistakes, he 
would be very likely to involve the persons whose 
land he surveyed in endless quarrels and lawsuits. 
People soon found out that Washington made no 
mistakes, and he had his hands full. Years after- 
ward, a lawyer who had a great deal of business 
with land-titles in the new Virginia country de- 
clared that the only surveys on which he could de- 
pend were those of Washington. 

The young surveyor, by his familiarity with the 
country, learned where the best lands lay, and he 
was quick to take advantage of the knowledge, 
so that many fine sections were taken up by him 

and others of his family and connections. He saw 
what splendid prospects the wilderness held out, 
and by contact with the backwoodsmen and the 
Indians, he laid the foundation of that broad 
knowledge of men and woodcraft which stood him 
in such good stead afterward. He must have 
seemed almost like one of the Indians themselves, 
as he stood, grave and silent, watching them around 
their camp-fires. 

His outdoor life, his companionship with rough 
men, and his daily work of surveying served to 
toughen him. They made him a self-reliant man 
beyond his years. People who saw him were 
struck by the curious likeness which his walk bore 
to that of the Indians. He was straight as an ar- 
row, and he walked with his feet set straight out, 
moving them forward with the precision and 
care which the Indian uses. Especially did his 
long isolation in the wilderness confirm him in the 
habit of silence which he had as a boy and kept 
through life. Living so much by himself, he 
learned to think for himself and rely on himself. 

Meanwhile, though his occupation was thus 
helping to form his character, he was still learning 
fiom his associates. There were three or four 
houses where he was at home. He went back to 
his mother at her plantation on the Rappahan- 
nock ; he was a welcome guest at Belvoir ; he 
visited Lord Fairfax in his cabin, and, as his diary 
shows, read his Lordship's books as well as talked 
with the quaint old gentleman; and he always 
had a home with his brother Lawrence at Mount 

( To be continued. ) 





By M. G. Van Rensellaer. 

fell iiiiiiiif it 

In Virginia of old, 

A highwayman bold 

Sprang out from his lair, 

On a gay coach and pair. 
The darky who drove turned pallid with fear, 
And so did the darky who rode in the rear. 

The master inside, 

Disturbed in his ride, 

Protruded his head, 

And near fainted with dread. 
But what happened then ? — I leave it to you. 
Please judge for yourselves, for I never knew. 


By Margaret Eytinge. 

Fred came down late to breakfast that morn- 
ing — so late that all the other members of the 
family were through, and had gone about their 
respective duties. But though he had slept so 
long, Fred was still sleepy, for he had staid up 
until twelve o'clock the night before, whereas he 
was usually in bed by nine. To tell the truth, he 
was also rather cross, — as most boys are apt to be 
when they are sleepy, — and as he took his seat 
he said: "Pshaw! there's nothing on the breakfast 

Then he called lazily, " K-a-t-e ! K-a-t-e ' " But 
no Kate replied, for an excellent reason, — she 
did n't hear him ; she was out in the poultry-yard 
feeding the chickens. So Fred leaned forward 
with a very discontented expression on his face, 
and closed his eyes ; but he soon opened them 
again, and began to sneeze. A pungent odor had 
tickled his nose. 

" Ker-chew ! ker-chew ! k-e-r-chew ! What in 
the world did that?" said he. 

"/did," replied a sharp little voice, and there 



on the table, before him, stood a small creature 
dressed in green, and wearing the brightest of 
bright red caps. 

"And who are you?" asked Fred. 

"I 'm Pepper." And the wee thing went hop- 
ping and skipping about in the nimblest manner, 
talking rapidly all the time. "'Nothing on the 
breakfast table,' hey? I believe that 's what you 
said; and /call it decidedly ungrateful in you to 
say so, when there are a number of things here, 
brought from all parts of the world to serve you 
and the other animals that laugh." 

" That laugh ? " repeated Fred. 

"Yes — that laugh. Don't you know — I'm 
sure you must be old enough to know — that of all 
the animal creation, only the human race — I think 
that 's what it 's called -can laugh? And when 
one considers," Pepper went on, "that I come away 
from the East Indies to help season your food, one 
would suppose that you would be somewhat obliged 
to me, and would not count me as nothing." 

" That 's true ! " joined in a second little voice, 
and another small figure, wearing a pure white 
dress dotted with shining crystals, and a wreath 
of what seemed to be baby-snowflakes, sprang 
from the glass salt-cellar. 

" No, indeed, of course not ; I beg your pardon, 
and Pepper's also — "said Fred hastily. "I'm 
sure I never meant " 

But here another tiny form stepped from the 
bread-plate and bowed gracefully to him, the 
plumes it wore on its head nearly touching the 
table as it did so. " And am I nothing? " it asked, 
"I, to whom the whole world owes the greatest 
of debts ; I, who have given health and strength 
to young and old." 

' ■ And — you — are — " began Fred, with some 

" Is it possible you don't know me ? " exclaimed 
the pretty thing reproachfully. 

" You — look — like — Wheat?" ventured Fred. 

" I am Wheat ! " and the feathery plumes waved 
lightly, as though stirred by a summer breeze, " and 
you have me to thank for Bread, which one of your 
wise ones has said ' is the staff of life.' " 

"Oh! I beg your pardon, too," said Fred. "I 
would n't be without Bread for anything, — not even 
cake. Why Bread is one of the very first things I 
remember. Bread and " 

" Butter," cried a jolly fat fellow in cream- 
colored garments. "Ha! ha! I fancy all young 
folks become acquainted with me and my fast 

"And who are you?" asked Fred. friend, Bread, as soon as they get their teeth, and 

" I am Salt," came the answer in clear tones, they never drop the acquaintance. And if you, 

" I have come from deep mines and deep waters Master Fred, did n't find me on the table when 

to wait upon you and your kind, for many, many you came to your meals, vou 'd make complaint 

years. What you would do without me I do not enough to indicate that I am something. Now, 

know, for you require my aid morning, noon, and would n't you?" 
night. Am / then to be classed as nothing?" " You are something — a very important some- 




thing! " declared Fred, with emphasis. " Please 
consider yourself included in my apology to your 
chums — friends, I mean." 

" And how about me ? " called the sweetest voice 
of all from the top of the syrup-jug, where sat a 
brown-faced elf, in a suit like jointed armor, a 
flower in one hand and a greenish stick in the 
other. "/ belong to the sugar-cane, and I come 
from the West Indies to give you syrup for your 
bread and griddle-cakes, and sugar for your tea 
and coffee." 

"I suppose I need n't tell you, my boy," ex- 
claimed another sprite (with a pigtail), sitting 
astride the handle of the teapot, — " that I, — Tea, 
at your service, — come from China. And I shall 

gently remark that I am not at all used to being 
considered as nothing." 

" And we," spoke two more quaint, wee creatures 
in the same breath, as they peeped from behind the 
coffee-pot, " have traveled from Java and Arabia to 
bring you pleasure. Surely you forgot us when " 

"So I did — so I did!" interrupted Fred, 
"dear Coffee, or perhaps I should say Coffees. 
And it strikes me, as it struck my lively friend 
Pepper — that 1 've been decidedly ungrateful." 

And he seemed very thoughtful when, his little 
visitors disappearing as suddenly as they had 
appeared, Kate brought in some crisp slices of 
buttered toast, a plate of delicious wheat cakes 
and golden syrup, and a cup of steaming coffee. 




jooovaoo :jco'; 


By \V. W. E. 

The Sun and the Moon are miles apart,— 

Millions and millions too; 
But if those old bodies had half a heart, 
They never could stand it so far apart, — 
I know I could n't — could you? 

But I have just heard (and I think she's right) 

What the dear old Earth opines : 
That the Sun shines down on some stars each night, 
And shoots them off, when they 're polished bright, 
To the Moon for Valentines ! 




By E. S. Brooks. 


Dicky Dot (boyish and buoyant). 

Dotty Dick (matronly and maidenly). 

Arabella, the Doll (non-committal). 

[Let the characters be taken by two as bright little children as can 
be selected for the parts; the younger the better. Dotty, a little 
girl of six or seven, and Dicky, a little boy of seven or eight. 
The only properties necessary are the dolt and doll- carriage, with 
afghan and a small umbrella. Dress in taking costumes of to- 
day, with ulsters and large hats, if possible, for better effect. 
Dicky, at least, should have an ulster and hat. Caution the 
children to speak slowly and distinctly.] 

(Dotty enters, right, wheeling Arabella in doll-carriage ; stops at " 

Dotty (disconsolately). 

Oh dear, oh dear ! 

a mother's cares are really 
but, no : this child 

very wearing; ♦ 
I did so want to rest 
must have an airing. 

Why, Arabella Florence Dick, you '11 catch 

your death o' danger ! 
How dare you throw that afghan off! 

[Leans down to adjust it, and sees Dicky outside. 
My goodness ! there 's a stranger. 
"Why, no ! — why, yes ! it 's Dicky Dot, a-pranc- 

ing and a-dancing. 
He's got a brand new ulster on — my! does 
n't he look entrancine;! 

And does n't he think he just looks fine ! In 

boys, it 's too distressing 
To see them thinking of their clothes — we girls 

must mind our dressing. 

[Enter Dicky, at the left, lifting his hat. 
Good morning, Mr. Dicky Dot; T hope you're 

well and hearty. 
Dicky (taking his hat off politely). 

Oh, thank you, Mrs. Dotty Dick ; I J m quite a 

healthy party. 
And how are you, and [bending over carriage^ 

how 's the child — Miss Arabella Florence? 

Dotty (dolefully). 

I'm well enough; but oh, that child! — I just 

could weep in torrents ! 
She does enjoy such feeble health, I 'm in a 

constant fever ! 
I hardly dare to take her out — I can't go off 

and leave her. 
And so, you see, I 'm tied at home; it's such 

a wear and bother ! 
Oh, Mr. Dicky Dot, be glad that you are not 
a mother. 
Dicky (thankfully). I 'm sure I 'm glad. 
DOTTY. Ah yes ! our lives are just a lot of worry, 

While all you boys have easy times, all fun, 
and play, .and hurry. 




Dicky. Oh, no, we don't. 

Dotty. Oh, yes, you do. 

Dicky. We have to work for true, though. 

Dotty. Well, so do we, and worry, too — that does 

n't trouble you, though. 
You walk around in pantaloons — 
DICKY (with an injured air). Only one pocket though, 

DOTTY. A brand new ulster. 
DICKY (proudly). Aint it nice? — I'm really quite a 

show, ma'am. 
Dotty. And here / have to tend and mind a dread- 
ful fretty baby. 
I 'm just a nurse-girl, I d